


I Think You Should Know

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Series: Should I Stay-verse [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (those three tags are for the same ship), Alternate Season/Series 12, Angst, Art Theft, Chameleon Arch (Doctor Who), Codependency, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pining, Secret Identity, Swordfighting, Telepathy, Thomas Edison gets bullied, Time Shenanigans, spider (singular), technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 63
Words: 113,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: After the awful end to their trip to Gallifrey, the Master isn't himself and the Doctor isn't handling it well. Sadly, that doesn't mean that they get a break.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: Should I Stay-verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790815
Comments: 823
Kudos: 254





	1. Pining

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! This fic will probably update pretty steadily until the end of the month, when my classes *should* start up again. After that, there'll be one or two chapters a week.
> 
> With all that out of the way, please enjoy: These Fools Are Pining Again - the fic!

O is in love with the Doctor. He's not even lucky enough for it to just be a crush; no, he's completely, absolutely, and unavoidably head-over-heels for the strange woman he shares a flat with. If he were feeling poetic, he might go on about her eyes, her hair, her smile. O isn't normally inclined towards poetry, but for the Doctor...

For the Doctor, he could compose sonnets that would make Shakespeare blush. He can't help it. She's enchanting, and he's certainly under her spell.

What's worse is that he's sure she knows, and he can almost convince himself she feels the same way. There's something in the way she looks at him at times, when she thinks he doesn't see, and it's so full of longing that his heart aches. He also knows that he doesn't have a chance.

O's pretty sure she's a widow, though she never talks much about her past. She'll start to talk about someone she only refers to as "an old friend", and then stop herself short. She clearly loved them, whoever they were, and it's plain in the way she smiles before she catches herself doing it.

Whatever happened, she clearly isn't interested in a relationship, and O intends to respect that. Still, his heart sings around her in a way he can't explain. She feels  _ right. _ She feels like home.

O runs a hand through his hair and tries to focus on the article he's reading. The bus rides to and from work get repetitive, so at some point he started bringing scientific journals with him to read. He'd never been good enough to pursue it as a career, but physics had always interested him. Apparently not enough to keep his mind from wandering to the Doctor, though. Not many things are.

Soon enough, he's at his stop. O sticks the journal into his work bag and makes the short walk from the bus stop to his flat. It's a small place, really, the second floor of a three storey building smushed into one of London's crowded streets, but it's home enough.

"Doctor?" O calls, pushing the door open. "I'm home!"

The only reply he gets is a purr from Theta as the tabby cat winds his way around O's legs. O leans down to scratch behind the cat's ears absently.

When he heads further into the flat, he spots a note on the small table that doubles as the dumping ground for the Doctor's spare projects.

"'Out with friends, be back soon,'" O reads, bemused. "And she signed it with 'kisses'. How French."

O isn't so blind as to not know that the Doctor's probably lying, but that's part of living with the Doctor. She seems to have a chronic allergy to the truth about certain things, and whatever she gets up to with her mysterious friends on a weekly basis is one such thing. O's learned to manage. He doesn't ask, the Doctor doesn't tell, and he makes breakfast the next morning and ignores her strange injuries.

"Guess it's just you and me tonight, Thete," he says.

Theta meows, seemingly unbothered. The cat's always preferred O to the Doctor anyways; perhaps because O was the one to rescue him off the streets. He pets Theta again, then stands up and begins searching through the messy fridge for something to eat. At least he should get some peace and quiet tonight.

O's halfway through a dinner of reheated leftovers when a strange groaning noise starts up. At first, he assumes it's coming from the upstairs neighbors - they have a strange taste in music and an even stranger choice of times to play it. Then he sees the massive blue box materializing in his living room.

Something about it seems familiar, like he's seen it in a dream before. Which is absurd, because O doesn't usually remember his dreams; not unless they're the horrid nightmares that push at his skull like a drum beat, full of blood and fire and hate. This box is almost comforting, though. He has the strangest certainty that he would be safe inside it.

O shakes his head. Dreamlike certainty or not, there's still a bizarre box appearing in his flat, and he should probably do something about it.

Before he can do much more than stand and grip his fork in a somewhat threatening manner, the Doctor steps out of the box. O blinks.

"Oh good, you're here!" she says, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. "Get in the box."

O blinks again. "Sorry?"

"I don't really have time to explain here, and it isn't safe," the Doctor says. "Just trust me."

That, O can do. He gets in the box. And then promptly gets back out of the box to make sure what he's seeing is real.

"Is- is this thing dimensionally transcendent?" he manages to ask.

The Doctor's eyes flicker through several emotions at once before she beams. "Got it in one! Now, come on, back inside, it'll all make sense soon."

Inside the - well, it's hardly a  _ box, _ but O doesn't have another name for it - is a room easily as big as the living room. Glowing orange crystals seem to be the defining feature, forming pillars around the whole room and giving it a soft glow. They pulse as he steps deeper inside, mouth hanging open in awe. He reaches out to touch one, only to get zapped when he makes contact.

O yelps and draws his hand back. The sting fades quickly, but the shock doesn't.

"Sorry 'bout that." The Doctor shoots a glare at the central pillar of crystal. " _ Someone _ is being a little temperamental today."

The crystals pulse a deeper orange, and O gets the sense it's apologetic.

"Wait, this place is alive?" Even as he asks, O feels like he already knows the answer.

The Doctor turns back to him, a proud grin on her lips. "Yep! She's called the TARDIS - Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. Basically, she can travel anywhere in time or space." Her grins falters, and she suddenly looks concerned. "Sorry, this is probably a lot to take in."

O knows that it should be, and yet… it feels like he's always known this. Less like learning something new, and more like fitting a missing piece into a puzzle.

"No, it's alright," he says. "But how do  _ you _ know all of this?"

"Long story." The Doctor waves her hand vaguely. "Short answer is, I'm an alien and I stole her. Can't tell you the long answer."

O almost laughs. "Y'know, that explains  _ so much _ about you."

She makes a face. "I thought you'd be more surprised."

"Seriously?" He actually does laugh at that. "You have a title for a name, you're super vague about what you do for a living, and I've heard you refer to people as 'humans'. It was either alien or cryptid."

The existence of aliens is nothing new - O's been living in London for… a while. He doesn't remember exactly how long, now that he thinks about it, but it must have been at least 5 years; he definitely remembers the Cyberman invasion back in 2014. The graveyards erupting with weird robots isn't the sort of thing you forget.  


"So, when you said it wasn't safe in the flat, what did you mean?" O asks. "Why wouldn't it be safe?"

As soon as he asks, the Doctor straightens and loses some of her manic energy. "Right. Well- actually, why don’t I pick up my friends first? I can explain everything to all of you at once. Much more efficient.”

She begins moving around the panels of switches and buttons, flipping and pushing seemingly at random. The same odd groaning noise begins to fill the room, and after a moment O gets a feeling of weightlessness, almost like the first moment an elevator begins to descend. It’s quickly forgotten as the TARDIS jolts sharply to one side, and O nearly falls over. The Doctor catches his arm, balancing him, and he briefly feels his heart stop.

The Doctor isn’t big on touching, and O is fine with that. He’s not a particularly tactile person either, so he doesn’t have a problem not touching her. There have been moments, sure, brushes of skin as O hands her a part for some project that’s too far away for her to grab or something. And yet, when her fingers close ever so briefly around his arm, his brain stops working entirely for a second.

As soon as he’s steady again, the Doctor lets go and goes back to piloting her strange ship, and O tries to pull himself together. He’s normally not like this, all this yearning and pining and blushing. Frankly, it’s embarrassing. He’s a grown adult, not some teenager, and this is his  _ flatmate. _ Beautiful alien or not, he should know better.

“You okay, O?” the Doctor asks.

“Fine!” he stutters. “Just, uh, not used to travelling via spaceship.”

Her eyes do that thing where she looks so deeply  _ sad _ for a split second, before she covers it with a small smile and a nod. “Takes a bit of getting used to, yeah. I’d say hold onto one of the pillars, but she might zap you again, so…” She shrugs. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” O mutters.

Luckily, the trip seems to be over soon after, the TARDIS landing - materializing, his mind helpfully supplies - with a thump. The Doctor strides past him, her coat billowing dramatically, and pulls the doors open.

Outside is another living room, though definitely not O’s. It’s less colorful and  _ much _ neater, no spare parts or cat hair everywhere. It looks cozy, though, and oddly familiar, despite O’s certainty that he’s never been there in his life. He’s getting that feeling a lot, today.

Belatedly, he realizes that he should probably follow the Doctor out. She’s standing in the middle of the room, glancing around like she expects something to happen.

“Grace?” she calls. “Graham? Ryan? Anybody home?”

No reply comes. The Doctor turns back to O, her brow furrowed.

"Well, my friends are  _ supposed _ to be here, but…" She trails off, turning around again one more time to check. When she speaks next, her voice is sharp and tight. "Right. Back in the TARDIS, O. We need to find my fam."


	2. MI6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is Suffering

Apparently, finding the Doctor's "fam" - and O finds himself surprised that she even  _ knows _ that word, given her general bafflement about slang - involves tracking some phones, and then going to the MI6 headquarters. Actual, real, James-Bond-esque MI6 headquarters. O isn't much of a film buff, but he's always had a soft spot for those ones, and as such he tries very hard not to make an absolute fool of himself when the Doctor lands them outside of the majestic building.

"Is this what you do on the weekends?" he breathes. "Hang out at MI6 and solve alien murder mysteries?"

The Doctor scronches. "Not usually at MI6. Never been too fond of them. They're too big on poisoning people. More for UNIT myself."

And then, without bothering to explain what UNIT  _ is, _ she heads up the stairs to the headquarters two at a time. O scrambles to follow her.

The inside of the headquarters is just as O imagined, all smooth marble floors, elegant staircases, and vaulted ceilings. He tries not to gawk too much, but he can't help it. The Doctor, of course, barely seems to notice as she makes a beeline for a group of people on the opposite end of the hall.

"About time you showed up, Doc!" one of them calls. "We've been here for ages."

"Fam!" The Doctor sounds delighted. "Good to see you're all here!"

Then she drops to a whisper, too quiet for O to make out from where he's standing. From the wide-eyed look the young woman in the group shoots him, the Doctor's probably explaining who he is. He waves, trying to be polite.

After a moment, the Doctor raises her voice back to her normal, slightly louder than necessary volume. "Right, fam, this is  _ O. _ O, this is Grace, Graham, Ryan, and Yaz."

Each of them gives some small greeting in turn. Their smiles look just a little strained, but O chalks it up to the stress of not knowing why they're all here.

The Doctor sticks her hands into her pockets and begins to rock back and forth on her heels, already impatient.

"Wonder where the person in charge is," she says. "I'd quite like to know what's going on."

Luckily for her, she doesn't have to wait much longer. An older man in a well-fitted suit strides up to them with the confidence and bluster only a high-ranking government official can manage, followed by a young, anxious looking person carrying a clipboard.

"Well, well, well. Finally we meet." the man says, looking at Graham with shock. "You actually  _ do _ exist!"

Graham looks baffled. "What?"

The clipboard-bearing assistant whispers something in the man's ear. Nodding, he turns to O instead.

"Sorry about that, my good man," he says. "I suppose our records are out of date!"

He holds his hand out for a shake. O blinks.

Looking deeply embarrassed, the man's assistant whispers again, standing on tip-toes and clutching the clipboard tightly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Franklin," the man scoffs. "I've read the files. The Doctor is a  _ man. _ "

Already, O's decided that he doesn't like this man. He reminds O entirely too much of the higher ups at his own job, acting as if they've done something impressive by being given the position their fathers held before them. And, to lower O's opinion of the man further, the Doctor doesn't seem very fond of him either.

Not a second after he has that thought, the Doctor shoves herself in front of O, directly into the man's line of sight. Even without seeing her face, O can guess her expression from the poisonously sweet tone of her voice. She never takes kindly to being patronized. "I've had an upgrade. Hi."

Something about that phrase makes O want to laugh, though he doesn't quite know  _ why. _ It's - familiar, almost, like a quote he doesn't remember the source of. For a split second, it brings to mind dark hair and long skirts and a Scottish brogue; then he's shaking his head slightly and wondering where on Earth  _ that _ came from.

"You've kidnapped my friends," the Doctor continues in the same tone, too nice to be genuine. "And now you're annoying me. So, what do you want from me?"

The man's face goes solemn. "We need your help, Doctor."

C, as he introduces himself, takes them all into an office to explain more thoroughly. It's a large room, filled with bookshelves and comfortable chairs. Near the back wall, in front of a window with a beautiful view, is a rather impressive desk that C sits down at before he begins to speak.

"Over the past three weeks, several agents from intelligence agencies across the world have gone missing. None of these disappearances have been ordered by rival agencies, and no bodies have been found. As far as we know, they've just vanished off the face of the Earth."

The Doctor raises her eyebrows. "At least, that's what you're all telling each other."

“No, we all have a very good working knowledge of what our enemies are up to,” C replies, shaking his head. “No agency possesses the technology to make people disappear entirely.”

“And you think it was something extraterrestrial,” the Doctor finishes.

C nods. “Our sister organization, UNIT, was unable to find anything useful, so they directed us to you.”

“UNIT?” Ryan asks.

“Unified Intelligence Taskforce,” the Doctor says absently. O can already tell that she’s focused on something else, already piecing together parts of the puzzle. It's beautiful to watch. “They handle most of Earth’s alien stuff that I don’t. Used to work for them, back in the day.” She turns to O, a hint of a smile on her lips and begins to say something before her face falls and she turns to C. "Anyways, if they couldn’t take care of it, then it’s a good thing you called me. Is there any connection between the victims?”

“Yes.” C reaches into his desk and pulls out a plain file folder. “All of them were investigating leads related to this man.”

He hands the file to the Doctor, who flips it open. O stands, moving closer to the Doctor to take a look. She tilts it toward him at a better angle, seemingly without thinking.

Clipped to one side of the folder is a picture of a dark-skinned man with short hair and a faint goatee, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The other side contains easily a dozen pages full of neatly typed information, everything from his birthplace to his favorite type of food. It’s almost creepy how thorough it is. Idly, O wonders if they have a file like that for him. Probably not.

“Daniel Barton,” Yaz reads, leaning over the Doctor’s other shoulder. “Born in Bromsgrove, now lives just north of San Francisco. Oh! He’s the founder of VOR.”

“The search engine?” Grace asks.

“Yeah, and not just that,” Yaz says. “They do web apps, social, global mapping, advertising, scientific and medical research, robotics, data polling, human analytics…”

O's never been very fond of it. Working in analytics has made him wary of anything that has access to so much of his information. Now, he feels justified.

“Right now, VOR is more powerful than most nations,” C says gravely. “Daniel Barton is the man who built it all up from the ground. And… he was also one of our agents when he first went to work in the US. Then he withdrew cooperation. It’s possible he became a double agent. Or even a triple.”

The Doctor's eyes flash with something not quite anger, not quite curiosity. She knows more than she's letting on.

Behind C, the surface of the window pane suddenly begins to warp, shifting and morphing more like clay than glass. For a moment, O puts it down to a trick of the light, but then it takes on depth and shape, pushing outward, and he quickly changes his mind. The strange substance forms a humanoid figure, though it keeps the translucent look of the glass as it pulls itself out of the window.

“C, move!” the Doctor orders, jumping to her feet and pointing some strange glowing device at the creature.

Eyes wide, C scrambles out of his chair and tries to get around his desk. The creature begins to glow, so brightly that O can hardly bear to look at it, and a strange whining noise fills the room. By the time his eyes adjust, C is gone. The creature is not.

Slowly, deliberately, almost tauntingly, it steps  _ through _ C’s desk and closer to the rest of them.

“Run!” the Doctor shouts.

She grabs O’s hand and takes off for the door, the others close behind. More of the glowing creatures pull themselves out of the bookshelves, the paintings, the walls,  _ everywhere, _ filling the room with painfully bright light.

The Doctor barely manages to get the door of the office open in time to get everyone through. As they run down the hall, down the stairs, out of the building, the creatures follow them, even more appearing from the walls.

After a truly terrifying moment when O was certain he was going to die, the Doctor pushes open the door to the TARDIS, gestures everyone inside, and slams it shut again. Without even pausing for breath, she runs to the console and begins pulling levers and flipping switches, sending the ship into space.

Finally, as the engines thrum soothingly around them, the Doctor relaxes. She turns away from the console to face them.

“What were those things?” Grace demands.

“We just saw the head of MI6 get killed,” Ryan says, eyes wide.

“What just happened?” O asks.

The Doctor holds her hands up, stalling the questions. “One at a time, you lot. I don’t know for certain what those creatures were, but I know they aren’t supposed to be here, in this dimension. It’s what I wanted to warn all of you about before.”

“Like the Soli-whatsit in Norway?” Graham says, tilting his head.

“The Solitract,” Yaz corrects.

“Sort of.” The Doctor nods. “'Cept there’s more of them, and it’s sort of the reverse. In this case, our universe is the Solitract and those things are us, only our universe doesn’t want them here. And they’re trying to kill us.”

“Sorry, can someone explain what’s actually happening, please?” O says again, louder and trying not to sound as terrified as he feels. “Because I’m not used to this and I almost got killed by glowing creatures that apparently shouldn’t exist, and I’m  _ very _ confused.”

The Doctor pauses, taken aback. “Right, sorry O. Forgot you weren’t-" she stops, closing her eyes for a moment like she's in pain. "Basically, those things are from another dimension, they’re trying to break into this one, and if they succeed then everything will stop working right and we’ll all probably die.” She makes a face. “There’s really no good way to put that, is there?”

O isn’t quite sure how to process that. Up until about two hours ago, he had been living a perfectly normal life. He’d had a job, and a flat, and a flatmate he was in love with, and a cat. Now he was standing in an impossible space ship owned by said flatmate, after just seeing the head of MI6 get eaten - or taken, or killed, or  _ something _ \- by a humanoid glow stick from another dimension that could apparently end the world soon.

“I- I need to lie down,” he mutters, feeling a bit like he’s about to throw up.

The Doctor’s eyes soften. “It’s a lot, I know. If you go through the door back there,” she points up a set of stairs, “the TARDIS’ll show you a room. Just, uh, don’t go in any with purple doors. They’re off limits for right now.”

O nods, grateful, and heads for the stairs. If this thing really is a time machine, then he can take as long a nap as he needs before having to deal with all of this.


	3. Interlude: Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but angsty chapter today!

The TARDIS corridors seem to stretch on forever as O searches for a room to sleep in. He passes countless doors, but none of them feel  _ right. _ They all feel like they belong to someone else, like he'd be intruding if he used them. He keeps looking.

Finally, he reaches one that swings open of its own accord, welcoming him in. He's so tired by now that he doesn't think twice; just walks in and collapses onto the large bed. It's comfortable, like it was made for him, and O drifts off in a matter of minutes.

O dreams of red grass, silver trees, an orange sky. Days spent laughing and playing, never too far from his closest friend. They grew up together, they were never far from each other - inseparable, even then - and yet he can’t recall their face. When he turns to look at them, he sees only hazy gold, burning bright and filling his vision.

He dreams of places he’s never seen, things he’s never done, people he’s never met. Forests full of creatures more fantastical than any book, colorful cities of strange people and towering buildings, a night sky studded with stars unlike anything on Earth. A promise to see all of it, hand in hand.

He dreams of tearing it all to pieces, burning the forests and cities, leaving the stars without anyone to admire them and only the dust of the planets to surround them. The endless pounding of drums urging for more, more,  _ more;  _ more violence, more blood, more destruction and pain and war.

O wakes up gasping for breath, and no better rested than when he collapsed into the plush bed. He’s never had peaceful dreams, but those were more vivid than usual. Normally, he’ll wake up with only a faint memory of the things he saw and an aching in his chest like something’s missing. These dreams, though, he remembers every detail. Every terrible, burnt, bloodied detail.

The drumbeat, the endless pounding of his heart twofold, echoes in his mind for a moment before fading back into his dreams. He can almost feel the gritty ash on his fingers, taste the smoke in the air.

O sits up, chest still heaving, and runs a hand through his hair. As he does, he finally takes a proper look around the room the TARDIS had given him.

It's all dark tones, black and purple and silver, right down to the soft comforter draped across the bed and the rug on the wood floor. A sturdy desk sits against one wall, papers, books, and bits of machinery scattered around like someone was using it not long before. It feels so  _ familiar, _ like he's slept here before, and yet so wrong and empty. There should be someone else here.

Or not. There’s no reason he should be thinking that, really. It’s probably just the stress of all the new, unexpected discoveries and of nearly dying that’s throwing him off. The room only feels empty because he’s missing Theta - normally the tabby cat sleeps in bed with him and spends the night purring on his chest.

O manages to pull himself out of bed, and makes his way out to the hallway. As he turns to pull the door shut, he notices that it's painted purple.

The Doctor doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss when O makes his way to the console room, though that might be because her entire upper body is buried under the floor panels, leaving her legs sticking out at an odd angle.

“Er, Doctor?” O asks. “What are you doing?”   


He's long since used to finding her part way through some project or another, but usually he has at least some sort of an idea of what the project  _ is. _ This is thoroughly alien to him.

In one fluid movement, the Doctor swings herself up and out of the open section of floor, and promptly hits her head on the console in her haste.

O moves to help her on instinct, but she holds up a hand. That's when he realizes she's not wearing her customary coat. It's hardly the first time he's seen her without it - they lived together for seven months, after all - but it never ceases to make him fall a little bit more in love with her, seeing her vulnerable like this.

“No, I’m fine, don’t worry.” The Doctor stands, sticks the wrench in her other hand into her pocket, and brushes a lock of hair from her eyes. “What’d you need, again?”

“Oh, I- I was just wondering what you were doing,” O says, now rather embarrassed, for several reasons.

The Doctor smiles, seeming not to notice. “I was doing some repairs! The old girl needed a tune-up, and with you asleep and the rest of my fam off investigating, I figured, why not now?”

“Off investigating what?”

“Daniel Barton. He’s the only lead we have.” The Doctor’s smile falls. “Those creatures are extremely dangerous, but they can’t get into this dimension without help, and Barton has to be the one helping them.”   


“How do you know all this?” O asks. “I mean, all the interdimensional stuff, that is. Is it an alien thing, or…”

Once again, she looks on the verge of some emotion too deep for O to grasp, and then it’s covered in an instant. “Sort of. I’ve been tracking tears in the boundaries between dimensions for a while now - that’s why I was here in the first place - but I hadn’t been able to figure out what was causing them until today.”

Somehow, the realization that the Doctor had only been living with him to track down some strange aliens  _ hurts. _ It shouldn’t, because he really should know better; still, knowing that they only met by coincidence, that she could just as easily have ended up with someone else makes his throat burn.

It could've been someone else learning the ways that she prefers her eggs, finding her half-finished machines scattered across their table, listening to her complain every time they bought pears, seeing the way her hair curls when it's damp and she hasn't brushed it yet. It could've been someone else falling in love with her, and O never would have even known she existed.  


O grits his teeth before he catches himself doing it, jealousy coiling in his stomach, and then forces himself to relax. He has no right, and he knows it. She's his flatmate, not his- his partner. It's not healthy.

The feeling doesn't go away. O decides to ignore it, because he  _ really _ doesn't want to address the implications of that right now.

"So, is there anything I can do to help?" he asks, forcing cheer into his tone.

After slightly too long of a pause to be unintentional, the Doctor says, "No, sorry. You could check out the library? Lots of interesting books in there. I've got a full collection of first edition Shakespeare, somewhere. I think. Oh! Did I tell you, I’ve met him? Fought off some witches - well, I say witches… Anyways! The books! Actually, they might've gotten lost when I accidentally flooded the library, now that I think about it."

She's rambling, trying to distract him; O's seen her do it a dozen times before. Well, if she wants to be left alone, he can do that. He doesn't know what's got him so off-balance today, but maybe he needs a little more time away from the Doctor as well.

"I'll see if I can find them," he offers, and then turns and walks back into the depths of the TARDIS.

As he leaves, he can hear the Doctor sigh and mutter something under her breath. For a moment, it sounds like "Koschei," but that makes no sense. He must have misheard.  



	4. Plotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pining - and next time, O staring at the Doctor in a suit and going "Oh No. She's Hot."

O spent easily an hour searching for the supposedly extant Shakespeare, to no avail, before giving up and settling for the beautiful handbound copy of  _ The Prince _ that he had unearthed from a stack of dictionaries. It was one of those books that he’d been meaning to read for years now - though he has absolutely no interest in politics - and he’s hardly going to turn down a chance to finally do so. Naturally, though, as soon as he gets into the flow of the book, the Doctor barges in, her four companions in tow.

“We need a plan,” she announces, sitting down on the sofa next to O and setting a laptop on her lap. “This laptop is a copy of Barton’s hard drive, so if I dig around I  _ should _ be able to find something about what he’s up to.”

“How did you get a copy of his computer?” O asks.

Yaz, sitting across from him, looks somewhere between embarrassed and proud. “Ryan and I snuck in and cloned it.”

“Aren’t you a police officer?” O says, tilting his head. “Shouldn’t you be, uh, less enthusiastic about committing crimes?”

Everyone freezes. The Doctor turns to look at him, something desperate in her eyes.

“How do you know that?” she asks. "Yaz never told you that."

“I-” O pauses, not quite sure. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know. He had just looked at her one moment and been absolutely certain that she had, at some point, mentioned being police to him. And yet, he can’t actually recall that happening. “I’m not sure. She just has that look to her.”

The Doctor narrows her eyes, but quickly changes the subject. “Anyway, Grace and Graham saw Barton talking to one of those creatures, so they’re definitely working together.”

“He knew what they were,” Grace says. “But he didn’t seem to control them.”

“Or the other way ‘round,” adds Graham. “Barton said something about them needing to be more discreet, though.”   


“Probably meant the whole ‘killing the head of MI6’ thing,” Ryan suggests.

Yaz nods. “Wasn’t exactly subtle.”

O wants to add to the conversation, but he gets the feeling that would only make things more awkward. He isn’t part of their group, yet; his only connection to them is the Doctor, and from the looks that they’ve been giving him when they think he doesn’t see, she hadn’t really brought him up before now. On some level, it’s nice to know that she’s just as stingy with information with everyone as she is with him, but it’s mostly annoying. He wants to help, but he barely knows what’s happening, and the Doctor won’t tell him anything more than what he  _ needs _ to know.

He still doesn’t even know what planet she’s from, he realizes, or what her species is called. How old is she? Why was she even looking for interdimensional tears in the first place? Why didn’t she let him investigate with the rest of her companions? And why does she keep looking at him like he’s broken her heart - does she even have what Earth would consider a heart?

“Hah!” the Doctor crows. She looks up from the laptop, grinning. “Found something. It’s encrypted, but I’ve had the TARDIS scan for new alien languages, and I think I can decrypt it. Honey, can you turn off the lights, please?”   


For a moment, O blushes, thinking that she means  _ him. _ Then the lights turn off without anyone getting up to do so, and he puts the pieces together. Of course she refers to her possibly-sentient time ship with pet names. Naturally.

In the faint light still coming from the one lamp lit, O watches as the Doctor pulls up some sort of strange image on the laptop. At first, it looks like a faint ribbon of light, but then she points a glowing device - a sonic screwdriver, he thinks, though he isn’t quite sure where the thought came from - at the screen, and it morphs into a collection of dots. She turns the laptop, angling it so that all of them can see.

“Here,” says the Doctor. “They’re coordinates. I think.”

“Coordinates for what?” O asks, barely above a whisper. He isn’t sure what prompts him to be so quiet, but it feels right in the darkness.

She sonics the laptop again, and a series of lines connects the dots, weaving them together into a rough map of Earth.

“Locations for these creatures,” the Doctor explains. More dots suddenly appear; easily dozens, if not hundreds. “Oh. That’s more than just a few.”

“We can’t deal with all those,” Graham mutters.

“Ah-hah!" The Doctor leaps to her feet, her grin just visible in the dim light. “They’re spies! Steganography, encrypted code, attacks on intelligence agents - it’s all spycraft.” Her face quickly goes solemn again, considering. “But why bother spying? If they can just disappear people, they don’t need to gather intel first. Unless-”

“Unless they don’t want to get rid of us,” O finishes. “Unless they have some sort of use for humans, too.”

The Doctor beams at him, and he  _ really _ hopes the blush he can feel rising on his cheeks can’t be seen. “Brilliant, O! Ten points. But what would they want to keep humans for? You lot tend to be uncooperative when it comes to being conquered. Maybe they’re-”

Grace points at the laptop. “Doctor, look.”

On the screen, the map suddenly splits in ten. Each one has a slightly different pattern of dots, though the lines connecting them still form the shape of Earth’s continents.

“Now why’s it doing that?” the Doctor muses. “Multiple Earths? What does that even mean?” She lets out a frustrated groan. “We really need to pay Barton a visit. Need to ask him in person.”

“Well, lucky for you, we’ve got invites to his birthday party,” Graham says with a smile.

“Nice work, you four!” The Doctor turns to O. “What d’you say, O? Fancy a party?”

As if he could ever say no to her.

The wardrobe is impossibly bigger than the library; huge racks of clothing of every make, material, and color fill a space large enough to easily get lost in. Luckily, the Doctor seems to know her way around, and quickly leads O and the others to a massive collection of dress clothing.

“Take your pick!” she says, gesturing broadly.

Her companions quickly disperse in search of clothing, but O pauses for a moment, taking all of it in. As he looks around, a purple suit catches his eye. It’s hidden between several others, all black or blue, but the vibrant color makes it stand out. He pulls it off of the rack and turns to show the Doctor.

“What do you think, is it too much?” he asks, joking.

The Doctor’s eyes go wide and she flinches, almost imperceptibly. She recovers quickly, blinking away the mournful look O had glimpsed and shaking her head. “Yeah, might stand out a bit too much. We’re trying for stealth.”

O tries not to be disappointed. It’s not even the sort of thing that he’d normally consider wearing, but it had had a strange appeal to him, and it seems like it would fit him perfectly. Still, if it gets that sort of reaction out of the Doctor, maybe it’s for the best if he doesn’t wear it. He slips it back onto the rack, and begins looking through the less eye-catching suits.


	5. Black Tie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to the party! O pines some more, the Doctor meddles, and things go awry

O finally settles on a plain black suit and bowtie. It's stereotypical, perhaps, but much less likely to upset the Doctor than the purple one he'd stumbled across. He does his best with the bowtie, though he's never been great at them, and finally he steps out of the dressing room to ask the Doctor what she thinks.

When he sees her, it takes his brain a moment to start working again. She doesn't dress up often - O doesn't think he's  _ ever _ seen her in anything fancier than nice trousers and a button-up - so he didn’t know what to expect. It certainly wasn't the handsome suit that she's wearing.

On anyone else, it really wouldn’t be anything special, but somehow, the Doctor makes it stunning. Her hair is just long enough to brush the collar of the white shirt she’s wearing. Her bowtie is a deep shade of gold, patterned with subtle swirls of black; the combo brings out her hazel eyes nicely. The suit jacket is roughly the same length as her customary blue coat, and the tails flutter around her when she does a demonstrative spin. She keeps the sturdy black boots that she normally wears, though.

“You never know when you’ll have to run at a party,” the Doctor says, when Grace asks her if she’d prefer something fancier.

“With you, it’s probably pretty often,” Graham mutters, not unkindly.

The Doctor looks a little sheepish. “Yeah. I used to hate wearing suits. Every time I did, something bad would happen.” She smiles. “But I’m sure my luck’s got better since then!”   


Ryan groans. “Now you’ve jinxed it!”

“No such thing.” The Doctor begins moving around the console, typing in coordinates and setting the right time for Barton’s party.

They land more smoothly than usual, and the doors swing open of their own accord to reveal a sprawling vineyard. Beyond the grapevines is a mansion nearly as big as MI6 headquarters, and even more crowded with guests.

“Shall we?” the Doctor asks, looking to O.

He smiles. “Let's.”

She leads the way up the path, through the ostentatious front gates, and to the woman checking people in. O does his best to not stare, but being right behind her means it’s somewhat unavoidable. The Doctor just naturally draws attention to herself, despite her talk of stealth. It’s the confidence, O thinks, the way she just assumes people will listen to her - and oftentimes, they do, simply because of her absolute conviction. The effect is almost hypnotic.

“The name’s Doctor,” she says brightly. “The Doctor. We’re on the list.”

The woman nods, barely glancing down to check. “Welcome. Go right on in.”

“It’s a party,” the Doctor whispers, walking into the massive house. “We’re guests. Blend in. And keep an eye out for Daniel Barton.”

With that, she disappears into the crowd, though O still can’t take his eyes off of her long enough to really lose track of where she is. He wanders around aimlessly for a while, floating from game to tacky game, never staying for more than a round or two. O’s never been one for parties like this to begin with, but the added stress of world-ending aliens certainly doesn’t help. In the end, he winds up leaning against a wall with a flute of champagne that’s likely more expensive than his flat, watching as the Doctor plays blackjack. Or, at least, plays a card game at the blackjack table. From the shout of “Snap!” O just heard, she’s playing something entirely different.

Again, O can’t help but admire the sheer confidence that the Doctor has. She doesn’t care that the other people at the blackjack table are laughing at her, she doesn’t care that she’s been playing the wrong game for the past ten minutes, and she doesn’t care that she’s drawing attention to herself. A moment later, she looks up from her hand of cards, spots him, and grins, waving him over. O shakes his head and smiles in return, hoping that she gets the message. The Doctor shrugs and goes back to her game of possibly-blackjack. O takes another drink of his champagne and tries not to make it obvious that he’s still watching her.

“Your wife?” asks a passing partygoer, a tall man with a glass of whiskey and a strong American accent. "That blonde playin' blackjack, that is."

Apparently O hadn’t been as stealthy as he thought.

“Oh- uh-” He blushes, flustered. “No. Just a friend.”

The man raises his eyebrows. “Hell of a way to look at a friend.”

“It’s complicated,” O mutters.

“Hmm.” The man takes a sip of his drink. “Well, I wish you luck uncomplicating it. Seems an awful shame to not even try.”

He wanders off, leaving O slightly baffled and not quite sure how to deal with that. He wishes things were that simple, but… even before he’d known that the Doctor was an alien, he’d known she was different. She's beautiful, a genius, and endearingly bizarre, while O is the sort of person who finds documentaries on the history of algebra thrilling and names stray cats after Greek letters. And besides, she's clearly still grieving someone she’d lost, and O isn’t going to take advantage of that.

O’s so busy contemplating the many, many reasons why trying to ask the Doctor out is a bad idea that he almost misses it when Daniel Barton walks right in front of him. Luckily, the Doctor doesn’t - she leaves mid-way through her game of cards and stalks after Barton, pausing only briefly to look at O pointedly, probably meaning for him to stay put and not follow her.

He doesn’t listen, instead following her to the back yard and leaning up against the doorway. It’s not that he’s worried that the Doctor can’t hold her own in whatever situation might come up; just that he doesn’t want to be too far from her. In a normal, not creepy way.

Barton and the Doctor are too far away for O to hear their conversation, but he can clearly see them silhouetted against the setting sun. They shake hands, and the Doctor holds on just a little bit too long to be entirely casual. Though her body language says ‘casual, friendly conversation’, the way Barton’s spine stiffens after a moment means she probably asked some rude and/or extremely blunt question that he isn’t sure how to handle. The Doctor stands up a little taller, a little more on the attack, and Barton actually falters for a moment before steadying. O can see as the Doctor spreads her arms out - more questions. Barton leans down until he’s almost face to face with the Doctor for what O’s certain is a threat of some kind. She lets him finish before smiling - O can just see the sunlight glint off of her teeth - and saying something in return.

Barton quickly makes his retreat, brushing past O without even pausing to apologize. The Doctor doesn’t follow immediately, just turning to watch for a moment as Barton slips inside. With the sun setting behind her, O can’t see her expression well, but he gets the feeling that it isn’t particularly friendly. 

Finally, she walks across the yard, grabbing O by the arm as she passes. He stumbles along after her; not that he has much of a choice, with her grip so tight on him. O tries not to enjoy it too much.

“We need to follow him,” she hisses.

“Should we get everyone else?” O asks, doing his best not to bump into the other guests.

The Doctor shakes her head. “No. I saw him head for the stairs, so he’s not leaving the house.”

That doesn’t really explain why she isn’t making a brief detour to pick up Yaz at the very least, who seems like she would be good backup, but O doesn’t question her further. There’s a fury in her eyes that is both wonderful and terrifying, and he wants to avoid being on the wrong side of it if he can.

A pair of guards stand in front of the elegant spiral staircase leading up to the second floor, but the Doctor simply walks right up to them, flashing some sort of leather wallet. They step aside, nodding, and let the Doctor and O through.

“What was that?” O whispers. "A badge?"

“Psychic paper,” the Doctor explains. “Shows them what they expect to see. I think it was a security badge like theirs this time, but it can be just about anything.”

They reach the top of the stairs, and the Doctor looks down both sides of the hallway. There isn’t a clear sign of Barton to either direction.

“Left or right first, O?”

“Left.”

The Doctor nods and turns. Her hand is still on his arm, O realizes as she pulls him with her. Does she not want him to wander off, or… no, she just wants to make sure he doesn’t get into anything dangerous. Surely that’s the only reason.

It takes several false starts and a lot of empty guest rooms before they find Barton in a sleek, minimalist office. The only thing out of place in it is a strange silver statue, though O can’t see what it depicts with Barton in front of it. Standing across from him is one of the creatures, and it seems to be facing him. O has no way to be sure, but he  _ knows _ that this is the same creature that killed C.

“Someone has caught on,” Barton says. “I need you to-”

He stops and whirls around to see the two of them in the doorway. His face twists into a snarl.

“ _ You. _ Again.”

“Me!” the Doctor chirps. “Again! Knew you were working with them. You know, if you’d just told me from the start, this would’ve been a lot easier.”

“You are an obstacle,” the glowing creature says, in a voice far deeper and more resonant than O had expected. “You will be disposed of.”

The Doctor shoves O behind her so that she’s fully blocking the doorway. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? The same way you disposed of C and those intelligence agents?”

A strange sound, almost like laughter, emanates from the creature. “Yes.”

It lunges forward, glowing like a miniature sun, and envelopes the Doctor. O wants to run - he knows he  _ should _ run - but he finds himself frozen in place as the creature moves closer. Blindingly bright light fills his vision, and then everything goes dark.


	6. Kasaavin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pining - but this time, from the Doctor's POV - and a new friend!

She’s not dead, the Doctor’s fairly certain of that. There’s still feeling in her limbs and extremities, she can see - not well, in the gloom of wherever she is, but well enough - and hear and feel and sense everything normally. Well, in three dimensions, at least. Time’s gone a little wonky, but if she’s right, that’s supposed to be happening. It usually does, in other dimensions.

The Doctor turns a quick circle, taking in her dusky surroundings. The whole place is filled with long tubes, or strands, or roots. Whatever they are, they vary in width from a few inches to nearly a foot, and they stretch from the ground upwards as far as she can see.

And, of course, there’s O at her feet, probably unconscious. From the angle she’s at, only seeing the back of his head, he almost looks like the Master again. Her hearts twinge, somewhere between hurt and hunger.

It's not fair to O, she knows, who she loves in his own right. If things were different, if he were truly his own man and not a pale impression of someone she loves more, she wouldn't hesitate to travel with him, show him the stars he spends so long gazing at some nights. But instead, O is the most human parts of the Master, all the good with very little of the bad. For the Doctor, it's almost like a sickeningly sweet cake; all soft and fluffy with no substance to it, no  _ bite _ .

Again, she knows it's not fair - to O, to the universe at large - to miss the dark, cruel parts of the Master, but... All of the atrocities he's committed are just as much a part of him as the help he's provided. And when the Doctor can't help but remember her own countless crimes, not having someone who understands grates away at her own sanity ever so slowly.

After the Time War, she had grown used to the loneliness of her own head. Traveling with him had accustomed her to touching him, kissing him, living half inside his mind like they had when they were kids, and now the emptiness feels so much worse. But like this, for a moment, she can almost pretend that he’s back, that she could reach her mind out and feel whole again.

Then O stirs, groaning and shifting, and the illusion breaks. He's just a human, and the Doctor is alone, her hearts breaking.

"Doctor?”

"Don't worry, you're not dead," she says. "No idea where we are, though. I think it's a separate dimension. The time tastes all funny."

O sits up, baffled in the sweet way humans are so good at, and looks around. “Well, it’s definitely not Barton’s office. What happened back there, anyway?”

“One of those creatures got us.” The Doctor brightens as an idea occurs. “I bet this is where they’ve been dumping all those other intelligence agents that’ve been poking too close to Barton.”

“You mean the ones nobody’s seen since they disappeared?” O asks.

“Oh, don’t be a pessimist,” she scolds. “We’ve got something none of the rest of them had.”

It takes a little digging through her pockets - bigger on the inside, of course - to find her sonic, but she brandishes it proudly. Her triumphant smile drops when the results come back blank; they had done the same when she’d scanned the creature in C’s office, but she had hoped for  _ something. _

“Well, what does it say?” O stands up and leans over to look.

The Doctor pulls a face. “Nothing. Guess it doesn’t like it here. Not that I blame it, really, it’s quite unpleasant. But! We haven’t seen any of the other intelligence agents here, so there must be a way out somewhere.”

“Or,” O says, “this place is huge and they’re all somewhere else. Or the creatures killed them once they got here."

More than likely, he's right, but the Doctor isn't going to admit that unless she has to.

“Would you stop it with the pessimism?” she groans. “We’ll be fine! Honestly, M-”

She stops, barely, before she finishes what she was about to say. She’d almost let herself forget, almost slipped up. Even after seven months, she’s still not used to it. Shaking her head, she tries to continue as if nothing happened.

“O, I’ve gotten myself out of much worse than this. Don’t worry.”

He looks dubious, which the Doctor can’t help but be a bit offended at, but doesn’t say more.

Reaching out a hand, she prods one of the tendrils, then jumps back when it suddenly lights up. Like a drop of water, the light flows down the tendril and into the ground, where it zips off to somewhere else faster than she can blink.

O turns to her, his eyes wide. “Doctor, what was that?”

“Interesting,” she breathes. “Useful, maybe.”

Another droplet of light snakes down a different tendril and off through the ground in another direction.

“Another! Even better.” The Doctor steps closer to a tendril, wrapping her hand around it. The smooth, tough exterior is almost leathery. “What are you? Pathways? Signals? Synapses?”

“Hello?” Out of the gloom comes a voice, high and nervous, echoing through the place. “Hello?”   


Quickly, the Doctor grabs O by the arm again and takes off towards the sound of the voice. It’s hard to pinpoint, through the winding masses of tendrils, but the voice keeps calling out, leading her closer.

“Can you hear me?” the Doctor shouts. “I’m trying to find you! Somehow,” she adds, under her breath.

“Look, there!” O points at what she’d initially mistaken for another tendril, but is in fact a humanoid figure.

It’s not easy to run through a veritable forest of tubes, but the Doctor does it anyways, pulling O along with her. The ghostly figure is much closer than she’d thought, made blurry by the foggy air, and quickly resolves itself into that of a young woman. Her clothing is probably early nineteenth century, and she seems surprisingly calm. Something about her face is faintly familiar to the Doctor, though she can’t quite place it.

“Please be assured, all this will pass,” the woman says, raising her hands placatingly. “I shall be recovered momentarily.”

The Doctor tilts her head. “When you say recovered, what do you mean?”

“The paralysis will fade,” the woman explains.

“You seem fine,” O points out.

She shakes her head. “In this realm, perhaps, but not in my earthly aspect.”

So, she’s aware that she’s not on Earth, and she seems to be able to get back there. Perhaps another victim of the creatures, or maybe she isn’t as human as she looks. The Doctor is definitely curious now.

“Right,” she says softly. “What’s your name?”

“I am Ada.”

“And what do you think this realm is, Ada?”

“I believe it to be my mind,” Ada replies. “Though I have not met any others here before.”

Oh, that’s interesting. That’s very interesting indeed.

“Then what do you think we are?” O asks.

Slowly, after a moment’s consideration, Ada says, “I presume you are a consequence of my thoughts.”

“No.” The Doctor shakes her head. “I’m the Doctor, and this is O, and we’re very real. But you’ve been here before?”

“Many times,” Ada nods. “When the paralysis subsides, I find myself fully back in my body, restored in the physical realm.” She leans in, eager. “If you  _ are _ real, do you have your own solution for egress from here?”

“No exit strategy,” the Doctor mutters.

Her first instinct is to pace, to wander around and try to figure out some way out of this place, but she stops when she hears a faint crackling noise. Looking up, she sees thin lines of light, jumping from tendril to tendril, circling Ada. It’s fascinating, but very, very worrying.

“Those fragments of light, or energy - why are they surrounding you?” the Doctor asks.

Ada smiles. “They are always here with me. They place a word in my mind. Kasaavin?”

As if on cue, the light begins to flow out of the tendrils, consolidating into a shape that the Doctor now knows far too well. Though its light is dimmed here, it is most certainly one of the same creatures that sent them here. O flinches backwards at the sight, but Ada seems unbothered.

“Ada, step away,” the Doctor orders.

“Do not be afraid.” Ada gestures at the creature. “This is my guardian.”

“This is your realm,” the Doctor gasps. “But how did you bring us here?”

The creature - the Kasaavin - remains silent.

“Unless… you can’t be. But you must be- what, gateways? We go through you and arrive in your dimension?” She really does pace this time, trying to make her brains put the pieces together fast enough. “Oh! Those tears I’ve been tracking, they’re you! You’re not just what’s causing them, you  _ are _ them. That’s interesting. Really, really bad, but really, really interesting. Sentient tears in the fabric of reality, ripping the veil to shreds just by existing.”

“Little of what you are saying makes sense to me,” Ada says.

“You and me both,” O mutters.

“But I am concerned you will be marooned here,” Ada continues. “When my guardian has returned-”

“They’re not your guardians,” the Doctor interjects.

“I can offer you my hand. We can leave this place together.” Ada reaches out both hands, one toward each of them, earnest.

“I don’t think that will work.” Too many things that could go wrong, too many painful ways to die from botched interdimensional travel. The Doctor could probably regenerate from it, but if something happened to O…

“How will you know if you do not try?”

O looks at the Doctor. His eyes are wide with fear and determination. “It’s our best shot.”

Light gathers around Ada, glowing brighter and brighter as the Doctor hesitates. Finally, she nods, and grabs Ada’s outstretched hand. A moment later, the Kasaavin’s light wraps around the three of them, and they disappear.


	7. The Marvellous Apparating Duo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter a day early, since I'll be starting my classes tomorrow and I'm not sure how hectic it's going to end up being. The next chapter will probably be up on Wednesday!

Traveling by Kasaavin, the Doctor thinks, is the worst possible way to get somewhere. Somehow, it manages to combine the sticky, squeezing feeling of teleportation with the stomach-turning disorientation of a vortex manipulator, all into one blindingly bright and painful package. But, she must admit, it’s efficient. Though she has no idea where or when she is. She takes a deep breath, analyzing the damp air.

“Ah. I’m getting nineteenth century, early with a touch of mid. Top notes… London. Steam.” She scronches. “Why’m I getting steam?”

All around her, the Doctor hears the bustle of a crowd, the shouts of people selling their wares - but this isn’t a street market. They’re advertising inventions; steam-powered weapons, electrical devices, diving bells. This is some sort of exhibit, and they’ve landed right in the middle of it.

Simultaneously, the Doctor, O, and Ada sit up. “It worked!”

“Miss Gordon, are you recovered?” a man asks. He bends down to help Ada up.

“I am, thank you,” Ada replies.

“Oh, we’re fine, thanks for asking,” the Doctor mutters, pulling herself to her feet, then offering O a hand.

“Sir, Madam - this gallery is full of the extraordinary,” the man says. “But your apparition just now was… impossible. How did you do it?”

The Doctor looks around the gallery, desperate for some sort of explanation that won’t get both of them thrown in an asylum. O glances at her, just as panicked. Briefly, her eyes land on a table advertising an image that can disappear and reappear at the press of a button, and she gets an idea.

“We are bound never to reveal our secrets,” she says, her voice full of mystery. Turning to the crowd, she continues, “Go about your day, knowing that you may tell people you were privileged to witness the Marvellous Apparating Duo!”

The crowd bursts into scattered, baffled applause. Satisfied with her distraction, the Doctor turns to the man who helped Ada up.

“The year, right now, would be what?” she demands.

Giving her an odd, patronizing look, the man replies, “The year, madam,  _ remains _ 1834.”

“Yes,” the Doctor sighs. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

She turns away from the man, letting herself wander around the gallery. Her attempts to distract herself with the exhibits don’t help much; she can’t stop thinking about what will happen to O. 185 years isn’t much for a Time Lord, but for a human… Even if he’s lucky, O won’t make it more than 80 years.

“Doctor?” O asks, gently touching her arm. “Are you alright?”

The Doctor forces a smile. “Yep! Just fine.”

“You’re lying,” he says bluntly. “And you’re terrible at it.”

Damn him for knowing her so well, even like this. She sighs. “I don’t know how to get us out of this one. I- bringing you with me was a bad decision.”

Hurt fills his eyes, and she immediately feels terrible. He may not be the person she wants with her, but he’s still her friend, and she does truly care for him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly. “You don’t deserve to be trapped here.”

O smiles, soft and forgiving. “At least I’m with you.”

The Doctor tries not to let that affect her, and fails miserably. She’s known that O has a crush on her, because not even she is that oblivious, but it’s much harder to pretend to ignore like this. Despite her best efforts, she loves him too; though he isn’t the Master, he is a good man. But therein lies the very reason she’s tried so hard to avoid letting him hope - he isn’t the Master. A small, selfish, horrible part of her hates him for that, and she doesn’t want to put that blame on him.

“Why don’t we try to enjoy the gallery?” O suggests, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “We can worry about finding a way back soon, but I doubt anything huge is going to change in the next hour or two.”

“You’re probably right,” she says, managing a smile. She may not be able to give him the sort of relationship that she knows he yearns for, but she can at least let him be happy here for a little while.

As it turns out, ‘a little while’ lasts all of 15 minutes before Ada finds them again at an exhibit and begins interrogating them.

“Now we are safe, will you reveal a little more concerning how you came to be in that place and, indeed, who you two are?” she asks.

“I’m a traveler in space and time, and O's my companion,” the Doctor says. “We were in the middle of dealing with a planet-threatening conspiracy two centuries from now when we were attacked by the man in charge and sent to the place where you found us.”

She stops, bending down to grab a small metal contraption that fizzes with energy when she touches it. Ada gives her a flat look.

“I am not a fool, Doctor.”

“And I’m not treating you as one,” the Doctor replies, just as serious. “This conspiracy involves those creatures you think are your guardians. They’re in alliance with a 21st century tech inventor, and they’ve been making people disappear.”

“It’s true,” O adds. “All of it, I swear. Those things aren’t your friends.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private,” Ada says, shaking her head. “I do not know if I believe you, but perhaps I can help you. Follow me.”

After a short carriage ride, the Doctor and O find themselves led into the sitting room of a large townhouse several blocks from the gallery with both Ada and the man who had helped her up earlier. A machine made of brass cogs sits on a table, motionless and somehow very familiar.

“I do not know why Ada decided to bring you to my home,” the man says, “though I presume it has something to do with her spells of paralysis. She told me that you, madam, are a doctor.”

“I am, and that’s part of it,” the Doctor agrees. “But Ada’s helping us, too. We’re not supposed to be here, either of us.

“When I was paralyzed, I saw them in my mind.” Ada looks at the man, solemn. “She claims to know the cause, and I know that you have long been interested in my condition as well, Mr. Babbage.”

“Wait, Charles Babbage?” O asks, beating the Doctor to it by mere moments.

He nods. “Yes.”

The Doctor’s eyes widen. “So this must be your Difference Engine!”

She walks across the room, circling the brass contraption with delight. After a quick, admiring glance, she reaches out and sets the cogs spinning for a moment.

“Oh, you know of it,” Babbage says, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, just in passing.” The Doctor runs one finger along the teeth of the wheels, feeling them turn beneath her touch.

“As yet unfinished,” Babbage sighs. “It will count and perform quadratic equations.”

“If you’re Charles Babbage, then you’re not just any old Ada.” The Doctor tries to keep the awe out of her voice, and fails. “You’re  _ Ada Lovelace! _ Daughter of Lord Byron and Annabella Millbank, one of the great minds.”

Human inventors are one of the Doctor’s many weaknesses. Their determination, their brilliance, and their wonderful views of the world never cease to amaze her. From writers to engineers, she admires every one of them, but Ada Lovelace is a particular favorite of hers. Centuries ago, from the Doctor’s perspective, they had met once; though for Ada, it was still a few decades in her future. No wonder the Doctor had thought she looked familiar.

Ada frowns. “I am Ada Gordon, madam.”

That makes the Doctor pause, doing a quick mental calculation. “1834. Of course you are. Well, maybe one day, who knows! You might meet a nice Earl, get the title back.” She smiles, giddy with delight. “Oh, this changes everything! This isn’t an accident. It’s no coincidence that it’s us, with Ada Lovelace, in Babbage’s house.” Then the more worrying implications occur to her, and her face falls. “That’s not good.”

“Doctor,” O calls, “come look at this. I saw it before, in Barton’s office.”

He’s looking at a strange silver sculpture encased in glass, a bare humanoid figure captured mid-movement. Something about it tugs at the back of the Doctor’s mind like a paradox, a snag in the fabric of time.

“This is the Silver Lady,” Babbage explains. “A revolutionary piece of engineering. But, like all great ladies, she is as much for decoration as for purpose.”

Ada and the Doctor share a commiserating look, before the Doctor asks, “How did you come by this?”

“It is an interesting tale. She was delivered to my home several years ago with no explanation, only a note requesting that I keep her safe.”

“What does it do?” O wonders.

“It moves, and, on occasion, projects.”

The Doctor spots something on a nearby table that catches her eye, and she walks over. On the tabletop, flipped open, lies a notebook with a stark black and white sketch of a Kasaavin. She holds the notebook up.

“On occasion projects something like this?” she asks.

Ada’s eyes widen. “Mister Babbage, you have seen the same form?”

“Madam, those are my private notes,” Babbage says tersely, grabbing the notebook out of the Doctor’s hand and closing it.

He can have it, for all she cares. There’s something more important than that sketchbook going on here, the Doctor can feel it. Ada, the Silver Lady, the Kasaavin, Barton - somehow they’re all connected, and she just can’t quite put the pieces together.

She stops pacing, turning to face Ada. “Ada, when was your first paralysis?”

“I was thirteen years old,” Ada replies. “That was when I was first transported to the place where we met, and I first saw an apparition.”

Not her entire life, then - only six years, if she remembers her dates right. “And over the years, the paralysis recurs, with the same effect?”

“Yes. No doctor has ever been able to diagnose the cause.”

“How long ago did you say you got the Silver Lady, Mr. Babbage?” O wonders.

“I believe it was, oh, five or six years ago now,” Babbage answers.

The pieces click, and the Doctor grins. “O, you’re brilliant! The Kasaavin weren’t stable in this dimension, so they needed a human to study. They take Ada to their dimension, and then they go to Barton and get him to help them make a device that can stabilize them. They bring it back here - no wonder it feels like a paradox - and implant it in history, allowing them to spy across Earth’s timeline! It wasn’t multiple Earths we were seeing, O, it was multiple time periods!”

She pulls her sonic from her suit jacket and points it at the Silver Lady. The machine lights up and slowly begins to spin. The Doctor can almost taste the dimensional  _ wrongness _ of it as it activates.

“What are you doing?” Ada asks, concerned.

“We need to get back to where we came from and stop this.” The Doctor takes O’s arm and steps closer to the machine. “And we’ve only got one way out of here. The same way we came in.”

Exactly as she’d hoped, a Kasaavin appears next to the Silver Lady, glowing and looming ominously. She can’t look at it straight on, but she’s almost certain that it’s trapped where it is; held in place by the Silver Lady, somehow.  


“If I use my sonic on the Silver Lady, I might be able to force this creature to throw us back to the 21st century.” The Doctor pauses. “I hope.”

“If this is your plan, it is fraught with risk,” Ada protests.

“Where there’s risk, there’s hope,” the Doctor replies. Once again, she sonics the Silver Lady, and whispers to O, “Deep breath.”

In the split second between when her sonic activates and when the glow of the Kasaavin becomes overpowering, the Doctor feels a hand land on her shoulder. It’s not O’s achingly too-familiar touch, and Babbage was too far away, so it must be Ada. She doesn’t even have time to try to warn the woman before all three of them disappear.


	8. Blitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of that sweet sweet Ada content, though we're drawing close to time for her to go her separate way from the Dumbass Duo

The Doctor comes to on hard cobblestones that smell of rain. Still London, she decides, though there’s a smokey scent in the air obscuring anything more distinctive. Definitely further in the future than 1834, probably the mid 1900s, but she can’t be sure.

She sits up and glances around. Ada and O are with her, though they’re both unconscious. The street outside of the alley they’ve landed in is empty, though the Doctor isn’t surprised. There’s a chill in the air, sharp enough even she can feel it. It takes her a moment to realize what’s off about everything - the moon is the only light she’s seeing by. It’s nearly midnight, but even then, the city shouldn’t be completely dark.

O wakes first, sitting up with a groan, and Ada rises a moment later. She looks around in awe at their new surroundings.

“Where are we?” she breathes. “This- this cannot be London.”

“It’s not London, 1834,” the Doctor says. “Not quite sure when it is, honestly, but it’s definitely London.”

She tilts her head up again, looking at the night sky as if it’ll give her some sort of answer, and then freezes when she sees lights pierce the darkness. Sirens blare in the distance, and the Doctor realizes why the city had been so dark.

“Doctor, what are those?” O asks. “They look like-”

“Spotlights,” the Doctor finishes, her voice flat. “I know when we are. We’re in the middle of the Blitz.”

It takes Yaz a little while to notice that the Doctor and the Master - no,  _ O, _ she reminds herself - have gone missing. Part of it, she’s willing to admit, was probably due to the fact that she was trying to avoid them.

When the Doctor had shown up seven months ago without the Master, she had just said that they’d had an argument and left it at that. Naturally, none of them wanted to ask questions; the Doctor got moody when they did, and Yaz really didn’t want to know the details of the Doctor’s weird, messy relationship with the Master. But after a couple months, she had started to get a little concerned.

And then, with no warning, the Doctor showed up at MI6 headquarters - Yaz is still a little bitter that it had taken her nearly an hour to show up - with a man who looked  _ exactly _ like the Master, and thought that a quick explanation of, ‘the Master lost his memory and is technically a human now, his name’s O, don’t mention anything from before because it might break his brain,’ would do. Of course, then they saw the head of MI6 get murdered by a glowing creature from another universe, and that had kind of pushed the whole O situation to the back of Yaz’s mind, but now that she had had time to think about it… she was annoyed.

So, yes, maybe Yaz has been deliberately hanging out on the opposite end of the house from the Doctor and O, and maybe she would have noticed their disappearance a little faster if she hadn’t been. Still, she eventually realized, and that was what mattered.

After a few minutes spent making a loop around the house, Yaz finds Ryan at the roulette table. She grabs him by the arm and drags him away, ignoring his protests.

“Have you seen the Doctor or O anywhere?” she asks.

Ryan shakes his head. “Not since we got here. Why?”

“I have a bad feeling that she’s done something stupid,” Yaz says.

“This is the Doctor we’re talking about, yeah?”

Yaz sighs. “You know what I mean!”

“Okay, okay.” Ryan raises his hands in a halting motion. “Let’s go find Nan and Graham and we can look for them both.”

“We need to find a shelter,” the Doctor orders. “There’s got to be some that haven’t filled up yet.”

She takes off down the alley and toward the street, trying not to panic. She’s survived far worse, but the Blitz is a dangerous time, and she doesn’t have more than her sonic to protect her companions.

“Doctor, what is going on?” Ada demands, stopping in the middle of the street. “What are those shapes in the sky?”

“They’re machines used to carry weapons, and if we aren’t careful, they’re going to land on us.” The Doctor grabs Ada by the arm. “I can explain more when we’re safe, but right now you need to  _ run, _ Ada.”

That seems to be enough to motivate the woman, because she starts to move again. Every bomb shelter they pass is closed, and they can’t afford to stop and hope that they have more room. Finally, after several more blocks of fruitless searching, the Doctor turns sharply and pulls Ada and O into an empty house. The door’s unlocked, likely left so by the residents now hiding in their own shelter, and the Doctor closes it quickly behind her.

“This can’t be safe,” O protests.

The Doctor bites back the first, cruel retort that comes to mind, and forces herself to be kind. “It’s better than being in the open. We’ll probably be safe.”

“Safe from  _ what, _ Doctor?” Ada insists. “You both seem aware of the dangers we now face, and yet I am left in the dark.”

“There’s a war, and we’re in the middle of it,” the Doctor says. “I can’t tell you much more. I’ve probably told you too much already.”

She makes a quick circle of the house, ensuring that it’s actually empty, and then settles in to wait in the front room. In the distance - though far too close for comfort - an explosion shakes the ground. Ada gasps and steadies herself against a wall. Through the window, the Doctor can see a cloud of smoke and flame illuminate the night.

“This is the future,” Ada whispers, her eyes locked on the window. “A world on fire.”

She sounds devastated. Of course she is, the Doctor thinks; this level of carnage and destruction is unimaginable to her. In Ada's time the mere thought of a truly global war, let alone one so terrible as what's to come, would be impossible.

Quietly, almost inaudible amongst the whine of falling bombs, Ada inhales shakily as if she's about to cry. Rather sharply, the Doctor is reminded that for all her brilliance, Ada is only 18.

“These are dark times,” the Doctor says softly. “But they don’t sustain. Darkness never sustains, even though sometimes it feels like it might.”

Ada doesn’t reply. The Doctor is about to step away from the window when she sees something that definitely doesn’t belong in the 1900s. A beam of bright blue light, rather than the white of the spotlights, cuts across the busy sky.

“Doctor, please tell me you’re seeing that too,” O says. “Because it looks like there’s a person floating in that spotlight.”

“There’s no way,” she mutters. “The odds of us landing on the exact same day - oh, this is brilliant!” Grinning, she announces, “Good news! I think I have a way out of here. Less good news. We might have to steal something from me.”

O looks at her, baffled. “Sorry, what?”

“Well, a long time ago, I ended up here, on this exact same day. I was following a bit of alien technology that had landed here and, long story short, it was trying to heal people. It got a little confused, accidentally turned them into gas-mask-wearing monsters, but I fixed it in the end. Made a great friend while I was doing it.” O opens his mouth to say something, but the Doctor cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “That’s not important, though. The important thing is, I left my TARDIS alone for a while, so we should be able to borrow it and get Ada back where she belongs, and us back to the 21st century!”

“Are you sure it is wise to go out there?” Ada worries. “You said that it was quite dangerous, and I am inclined to agree.”

The Doctor looks at Ada. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe. As long as you stick with me, Ada Lovelace, you’ll be okay.”

“If the Doctor’s missing, we could try to call her,” Graham suggests, after Yaz explains the situation.

“She left her phone in the TARDIS,” Ryan points out, shaking his head. “Said something about not wanting it ringing at a bad time.”

“Maybe she found Barton and went after him,” says Grace. “If we can find Barton, we can find the Doctor and O.”

Yaz frowns. “But we don’t know where Barton is either.”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, that’s him leaving now,” Graham says, pointing. “What sort of person leaves halfway through his own party? He’s got to be guilty.”

Yaz turns, and sure enough, she sees Barton slipping through the crowd, heading for the front door. He’s accompanied by several of the guards who’d been blocking the stairs to the second floor, and if his body language is any clue, then he’s desperate to leave as soon as he can.

“Come on!” Yaz takes off after Barton.

Just as they make it to the front door, Barton steps into a car. One of the guards places something in the car with him - a glass case holding something, Yaz thinks - and closes the door.

“Oh, great,” Graham sighs. “How’re we supposed to follow him now?”

Yaz turns, and sees the grin on Grace’s face. It’s the same grin she always gets when the Doctor proposes an extremely dangerous plan and Grace is the first to volunteer. Yaz has learned to fear that grin.

“Graham,” Grace says brightly, “do you remember that trip the Doctor took us all to that Great Bike-Off?”


	9. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to everyone except the two authors of my Computer Science textbook, who spent about 7 paragraphs talking about Charles Babbage, and a grand total of one(1) paragraph just mentioning Ada Lovelace. @those two, if you're somehow reading this, your book is historically inaccurate and you should feel bad.  
> Also, get ready for another chapter tomorrow, because I've got the rest of this arc already written and the only reason I'm not posting all of the chapters at once is because I need a buffer to plan the next arc during

“Are you sure you remember where you parked the TARDIS?” O asks.

The Doctor bristles. “We’re close! Probably. It’s been a few centuries since I was here, so my memory’s a bit fuzzy, but I know I parked near some sort of club. Honestly, we’ve only been out here for half an hour.”

“Doctor, I don’t know if you noticed, but there are bombs being dropped on London as we speak,” O says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “I’m quite fond of not being dead, so if there’s any way to make this faster, please don’t hesitate on my account.”

It’s interesting, the Doctor thinks, what causes certain facets of the Master’s personality show in O. When they had been living peacefully together, the closest he’d ever gotten was an interest in the sciences and a tendency to root for the villain in movies. Now, surrounded on every side by pieces of who he used to be - who the Doctor desperately hopes he will be again - the mask is beginning to slip, just a little. He's remembering things; small things, yes, but it's progress. He's losing some of the very human sweetness the Doctor has come to resent.

“If you two would stop bickering and listen, I am trying to tell you that I do believe I have found your box!” Ada snaps.

The Doctor’s train of thought derails, and she jolts to the present again. “Really?”

“You said it was blue and would be located in an alleyway, did you not?” Ada looks pointedly across the street.

Sure enough, tucked into the back of the alley is the TARDIS, barely visible in the darkness. Relief fills the Doctor’s hearts, and she runs for her ship without waiting for either of the humans to follow.

Though her TARDIS has changed since now, the Doctor will always love the older appearances her lovely ship took. As she pulls her key from her pocket, she runs one hand along the deep blue wood of the doors with a fondness borne from thousands of years of travel.

“Hello, dear,” she whispers. “I’ve missed you.”

The door swings open to an old but familiar interior, all burnished metal and coral struts. It brings back memories of the Doctor’s younger days; bittersweet but not unwelcome. She had been so different, back then.

“Come on!” she calls, turning back to her companions.

O steps inside first, already somewhat prepared for the sight about to greet him. Ada is less ready. She barely gets all the way inside before her eyes light up with wonder and she steps back out, making sure that what she sees is the truth.

“This box contains multitudes,” she gasps.

“She prefers to be called the TARDIS,” the Doctor corrects with a smile. “Stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space.”

“She’s beautiful,” Ada says softly. “I could spend my life studying her and never grow bored.”

The lights flicker appreciatively in what the Doctor knows to be the equivalent of a blush. The old girl is quite susceptible to flattery, and she always has a fondness for the ones who appreciate her.

“Right!” the Doctor says, after allowing Ada a moment longer to stare. “One trip to 1834 for you, Ada, and then back to 2019 for me and O. Let’s see if I can remember where all the controls are these days.”

When they had gone to the Great Kalisperon Bike-Off, Ryan had been fine on a motorcycle. The Great Kalisperon Bike-Off also offered antigravity body armor. Right now, all he has is a tuxedo that's a little itchy, a hastily grabbed helmet, and a deep sense of panic as he clings to Yaz and hopes that she knows what she's doing.

They follow Barton's car down the winding dirt road, the grapevines zipping by fast enough to make Ryan a little dizzy. The feeling abates slightly when they turn onto a paved road, though he still can’t relax. Nan and Graham are in front of them, and when Ryan can bear to open his eyes he sees that Graham looks equally uncomfortable.

Eventually, the car turns into what seems to be a private airport, heading straight for a large warehouse. The massive doors slide shut behind it, far quicker than they’d have any hope of beating. Nan turns her bike to a stop. Yaz follows suit, and as soon as the bike is stable, Ryan jumps off.

“How’re we supposed to get in there?” Ryan wonders. “It’s not like we have the Doctor’s sonic.”

“We don’t need it,” says Nan. “What would she do if she was here?”

Yaz grins. “She’d bluff her way in.”

“Yes, but that works because she’s the Doc,” Graham points out, rather reasonably. “We’re not.”

“Stop worrying, love,” Nan soothes. “Just be confident.”

With that, she turns and begins walking toward the warehouse. Yaz is right behind her, and Ryan follows more out of obligation than any real confidence in this plan. Pretending to be a reporter had barely been within the realm of his acting abilities, and this was pushing it way too far. Graham seems even more reluctant, but he’s never been very good at saying no to Nan’s ideas, even when they’re crazy.

Since the doors are closed, they have to go around the warehouse in order to find Barton. Just as they round the corner, Ryan spots him getting into a huge passenger plane. He seems to be the only person boarding.

Nan walks up to the plane with the same sort of confidence that she used to bring out on Ryan’s teachers when they refused to accommodate his dyspraxia. Not a single one of the staff stop them as they go, barely even looking up from their tasks. When she reaches the plane and opens the door, one of the security guards takes notice.

“Ma’am, are you supposed to be here?” he asks.

Nan gives him a smile. “Oh, yes. Daniel said we were supposed to join him. We’re friends of his mother.”

The guard reaches for his radio.

“You got the memo, right?” Yaz adds, in a very earnest tone that Ryan has only heard her use when she’s being facetious. “Daniel made sure it was sent this morning, to make sure everything was worked out well in advance. So that nobody would bother him. You understand.”

That makes the guard pause. After a moment, his hand moves away from his radio. “Right, go right ahead.”

Nan nods politely at him, and steps up into the plane. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Ryan collapses into one of the extremely comfy seats with a gasp.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Graham mutters.

“I told you,” Nan says smugly. “Confidence.”

It takes the Doctor far longer than she will ever admit to readjust to the old control setup. Once she does, though, getting Ada back to 1834 is fairly easy. As the TARDIS settles with a groan, the Doctor does a quick check of the scanners to make sure that she’s not too far off from the right day. The last thing she wants right now is to accidentally break time because she took Ada back a year or ten late.

“Only three hours after we left!” She gives the console a pat. “I’d say that’s pretty good, wouldn’t you, Ada?”

“Doctor, I have no frame of reference,” Ada points out. After a moment, she smiles and rests a hand on one of the coral struts. “Though if your TARDIS really can travel the whole span of time, I suppose a mere three hours is quite accurate.”

The Doctor hesitates for a moment before opening the door. Ada’s already seen things she shouldn’t - the TARDIS, the future, the technology that both hold - and it could put the timeline at risk. It would be best to wipe her memory of the Doctor now, to keep everything safe. And yet… she hesitates.

“Right, come on, Ada!” she says brightly. “I’ll walk you out. O, don’t touch anything.”

O gives her an offended look, which she pretends not to notice, but steps away from the console. The TARDIS controls aren’t on isomorphic at this point, and the Doctor really doesn’t want to risk him dematerializing her by accident.

Babbage’s sitting room is empty, lit only by the dying embers of the fire burning in the hearth. It feels peaceful, after the panic of 1941 and the thrill of piloting the TARDIS again. Ada steps out, then turns to face the Doctor.

“Doctor, does this have to be the end?” she asks. “All the things I’ve learned - the advances, the machines. I would dearly love to see more.”

Her eyes are so wide and hopeful that the Doctor barely has the hearts to say no. But she can’t let Ada travel with her, no matter how wonderful it would be.

“I’m sorry, Ada,” the Doctor sighs. “You can’t. You’ve already seen too much.”

There’s a reason that the Doctor tries not to travel with historical figures. Their timelines are too tightly woven in; there isn’t enough give for the sort of twisting and turning that the Doctor would put them through. She can meet them, perhaps manage one or two trips if she’s careful, but they can never be true companions. It’s too risky.

“What do you mean?” Ada frowns.

“You have your own path you need to take, and it doesn’t involve traveling with me. You do so much for the world, but you can’t do it if you’re off seeing the stars.” The Doctor steps forward. “I’m ever so sorry, Ada.”   


Ada backs away. “Doctor, what are you doing?”

“Wiping the things you shouldn’t have knowledge of. Including me.” Reaching out, the Doctor presses her fingers to Ada’s temple.

“But I want that knowledge,” Ada pleads. “Don’t take it away.”

The Doctor stops. Memories of Bill, in the same position, begging to keep her memories for just a little longer, play out in her mind. Unbidden, she thinks of O; the Master hadn’t even been able to ask before his memories were taken. Her hand falls from Ada’s face.

“You’re right,” she whispers, horrified at herself. “I’m sorry. I- I shouldn’t have-”

Ada grabs her hand before she can pull back entirely, holding it gently but firmly. The Doctor’s first instinct is to yank her hand away, but she forces herself to stay still, frozen in place. She owes Ada this, at least.

“It's okay, Doctor,” Ada says softly. “I forgive you. But I do think you are right. It would not do me good to travel with you. I find you altogether too wonderful, and I am afraid that I would be too forgiving of far worse than this.”

The Doctor smiles, somewhere between soft and mournful. “You’re brilliant, Ada, I hope you know that.”

“So, dear Doctor, are you.”

Ada raises the Doctor’s hand to her lips and brushes her lips against the back of her hand, a mimicry of courtly etiquette. Then she lets go and steps back, blushing slightly.

“Goodbye, Doctor,” Ada says. “I am certain that you will find a solution to your problem.”

She turns and leaves the sitting room, leaving the Doctor unbalanced and strangely guilty. Just the knowledge that she came so close to wiping Ada’s memory, to doing something so cruel just for the sake of the timeline, makes her feel sick. It makes her feel far too much like a proper Time Lord, which is about the last thing she wants to be these days.

When she steps back into the TARDIS, she tries to hide her guilt behind a smile and a cheerful word to O, but the feeling lingers low in her stomach even as she pilots them back to 2019. If the Master were here- well, he probably wouldn’t have cared what she did with Ada’s memories, but at least then she would’ve had someone who understood her dilemma. She glances at O, who’s still wide-eyed with awe as she steers the TARDIS, and desperately hopes she can get the Master back soon.


	10. Fight or Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter of this arc, so brace yourselves for some fun when I post chapter 11 on Wednesday!

Instead of dealing with the hassle of getting back in to Barton’s party, the Doctor lands the TARDIS in Barton’s office. It’s off-limits to most of the guests, and if she’s right, Barton won’t even be there to notice. He can hardly orchestrate a world-wide takeover by interdimensional aliens from his office.

“Oh, I love it when I’m right,” she exclaims, stepping out into the room, now utterly devoid of any people. “And we’ve only been gone twenty-nine minutes, which is way better than I usually manage! Now, if I were Barton, where would I be…”

“Doctor?” O follows her out hesitantly. “Shouldn’t we find your friends before we try to find Barton?”

She tilts her head. “They’re just downstairs. I doubt they’ve even noticed that we’re gone by now.”

O frowns and his eyes go big and sad, and the Doctor sighs. “Oh, fine, we can pop down to make sure they’re doing okay.”

She had been hoping to avoid her fam as much as possible with O around - the explanation she’d given them was haphazard at best, and she  _ really _ didn’t want to answer any of their questions right now - but she can never say no to those puppy dog eyes. O’s taken advantage of that before; without them, Theta would’ve ended up at a shelter instead of their flat. The Doctor heads for the door, but not before her eye catches on something. Or, rather, a lack of something.

“You said you saw the Silver Lady in Barton’s office, didn’t you?” she asks.

“Yeah, it was right over-” O pauses. “It’s gone.”

The Doctor hums. Obviously, the Silver Lady was important to whatever plan Barton and the Kasaavin had; she’d figured that much out already. But if Barton took it with him, then it must be more pivotal than she had thought. How, she doesn’t yet know.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find it,” she says. “Come on, O. Let’s find my fam.”

Graham is bored. After the initial terror of bluffing his way on to a plane being piloted by a guy possibly trying to end the world had worn off, there wasn’t much to  _ do _ on said plane besides sit and wait for it to land. Which was how a lot of plane flights went, in Graham’s limited experience, but somehow it feels worse in the wake of the adrenaline rush that came with a high speed motorcycle chase and some blatant lying.

He didn’t even have his mobile to mess with because, after a brief conversation, the four of them had decided it was best to turn them off entirely, even taking out the batteries to be safe. Barton controlled Vor, and Vor controlled their technology; if they wanted to avoid being caught, it was best to keep as few electronics on as they could. Graham’s choices of entertainment consist solely of the magazines that had been left in the backs of the seats, and his fellow travelers.

Ryan and Yaz are sitting apart from him and Grace, seeming deeply engaged in a conversation Graham’s only caught bits and pieces of. He thinks it might have originally been about Sonya and her insistence on getting Ryan’s number, but honestly, he can’t be sure. About an hour into the flight, it had taken a detour into what seems to be a ranking of what historical figures they would each like to snog, and at that point Graham had actively started tuning them out. There are some things a man doesn’t need to know about his grandkids.

“Still can’t believe that worked,” he remarks to Grace. “You’re incredible sometimes.”

Grace raises an eyebrow. “Only sometimes?”

“You know what I mean.” Graham squeezes her hand. “I do think the Doc’s been rubbing off on you, though.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Grace asks, somewhat pointedly.

“No, no!” He shakes his head. “Just saying. You never would have tried that a year ago. Never would’ve needed to, then, but…”

She smiles knowingly. “Yeah. You’ve changed too, you know. You and Ryan are much closer now.”

“I’d like to think that’s because I saved him from getting eaten by a giant turtle,” Graham says, only half-joking. “That thing nearly took my arm off.”

Grace laughs, and Graham is suddenly deeply grateful to the Doctor. Sure, sometimes she’s prickly or outright rude, sometimes she lands them in the middle of a swamp filled with flesh-eating turtles the size of a small car, and sometimes she had ignored it when the Master was being more awful than usual, but all those pale in comparison to the wonderful things she’s done for them. She’s brought them together, made a proper family of them, and she’s shown them the most amazing sights.

Sometimes, though - more and more often now that the Master’s gone - Graham worries about the Doc. He knows trying to pry would only scare her off, but he also knows that without someone to talk to, she’s going a little strange. Brooding when she thinks that they don’t see, moody, a little more reckless than she probably should be. Hopefully, wherever she’s disappeared to, she makes it back in time to help stop Barton. He thinks it would do her some good to be reminded of who she is.

The Doctor does a circle of the house, then another one just to be sure. Her companions are nowhere to be seen. She double-checks the time in case she’d landed a bit too early, and finds that no, she’s thirty-five minutes after when she’d gone upstairs with O.

“So then where are they?” she mutters, mostly to herself. She turns to O, who’s just a few steps behind her. “Right, let’s head back to the TARDIS. I can probably track their mobiles like I did earlier.”

“Um, which TARDIS?” O asks.

The Doctor pauses; she had sort of forgotten that there were now two versions of her TARDIS here. “Mine. Er,  _ now’s _ mine. The one I didn’t steal- I mean- oh, English just doesn’t have a good word for it.”

“The one parked outside?” O smiles.

“Yes!” She nods. “That one. You head out to that one, and I’ll take care of the one in Barton’s office.”

O hesitates, for just a moment. His eyes dart to her, then away, in a very telling manner. He doesn’t want to split up; the Doctor hardly blames him. Whether it’s residual memories of Gallifrey or just common sense, it’s probably best if they stick together.

“Actually,” she says, as though the idea had just occurred to her, “why don’t we go together? You don’t have a key, and there’s no point in making you stand in the vineyard while you wait.”

The grateful look on O’s face when he nods is enough to make her hearts ache. He’s so  _ human _ like this, so willing to follow her lead, and it’s strange. The Master didn’t -  _ doesn’t _ , she forces herself to think - need to be led the same way her humans do. They were - are - always on the same wavelength, knowing each other well enough that even with telepathy she could just look at him and he would understand the plan. That sort of familiarity hurts to lose.  


She brushes the thoughts aside and heads back to Barton’s office, back to the TARDIS. The ship hums in her mind as she enters, welcoming but eager to get away from herself. The Doctor knows the feeling.

“Now, I’m going to set your coordinates to where you should be, and then I’m going to pull the dematerialization lever, and you’re going to wait until I run out of here to leave,” the Doctor says. Technically, she doesn’t need to speak out loud for the ship to understand the plan, but it makes her feel better to do so.

The TARDIS sends a warm flash of understanding, and helpfully points her to the keyboard in a way the Doctor can’t help but feel patronized by.

“You know, it’s only been about a thousand years since I last used this desktop,” she gripes. “I remember where the coordinate pad is, dear.”

“Did you say something, Doctor?” O calls.

She turns and shouts out the open door. “Just talking to the TARDIS, nothing to worry about!”

Coordinates entered, the Doctor steps back from the console. After giving it one more affectionate pat, she pulls the dematerialization lever, and then books it out the door like she’s being chased. She slams the door shut behind her and leans against Barton’s desk to watch as the ship fades out of existence.

Once the groaning fades, the Doctor looks at O. “Ready to go find my friends and put a stop to Barton’s plan?”

He smiles. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Why’re their mobiles off?” the Doctor groans, directing the complaint somewhere towards the ceiling of the console room. “They never turn their mobiles off! And they- oh!”

Her mind is racing, the beginnings of a plan coming together. The Silver Lady is the most important part of Barton's plan, if she's right, and thanks to it's paradoxical origins, it has a unique temporal signature. If she can lock on to it, then maybe...

“Yes?” asks O.

“Not you, just had an idea.” She makes a quick circle of the console, setting the coordinates for a year prior. “We don’t need their mobiles - we can track something else!”

With how easy it had been to get on the plane - the terror of lying to the guards aside - Yaz had expected it to be harder to get off. Part of her, the part that had pushed her to become a police officer, the part that enjoyed the riskier adventures a little too much, had been hoping that some sort of stealth would be required. That part turned out to be sorely disappointed.

When Barton landed the plane, the four of them had ducked beneath the seats just in case, but the man barely seemed to notice. They’d waited an extra five minutes, according to Ryan’s watch, though it didn’t seem to be necessary.

The small airport where Barton had landed the plane seems almost empty, which is hardly surprising. Yaz is too jetlagged to even try to figure out what time it is now, but the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon when the four of them step out of the plane and onto the tarmac. There are several huge airplane hangars dotting the space, and Yaz can just make out Barton as he steps into one.

Well, at least he’ll be easy to find.


	11. Recall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> Nothing bad is going to happen in this chapter

In O’s humble opinion, he’s handling everything remarkably well, and it’s beginning to worry him. Learning that the Doctor’s an alien had hardly fazed him, seeing the inside of the TARDIS had barely made him pause, even meeting  _ Ada Lovelace _ of all people hadn’t had much impact. He knows that he should be more worried, scared, and confused than he is. And yet, somehow, all of this new information and these amazing new experiences fit neatly into his mind. Like he’d known it all at some point, lost it, and was just now remembering.

Except O knows that he never knew anything about time travel or spaceships or aliens. He’d lived a boring life; so boring, in fact, that he can barely recall the details. No, surely he could. His parents had been rich - he thinks - and they’d sent him to a boarding school, he’d gone to university after that, got his job, and… and then he’d met the Doctor, and everything after that feels  _ real. _ Everything from those past seven months, he can recall like it happened yesterday - the Doctor’s smile when she’d introduced herself for the first time, the disaster of a cake she’d attempted to make for his birthday, her reaction to him bringing Theta home. All the colors and sounds and feelings are bright and true, where everything else feels washed out and dull.

He’s certain that there’s an explanation for that. Maybe he’s just always had a bad memory - except there’s a sharp delineation between the two, no gentle fade into forgetfulness. Maybe his life really  _ was _ that boring, and the Doctor is the first exciting person he’s ever met; that would certainly explain why he was drawn to her. But then, how is he handling all of this excitement so well?

“That’s that taken care of!” the Doctor announces, sweeping back into the TARDIS with a wide smile. “Ready to go, O?”

O runs a hand through his hair, stands up from the steps, and nods. Even watching the Doctor dance around the console feels far too familiar for the handful of times he’s seen her do it. She pulls the dematerialization lever - how does he know that’s what it’s called? - with a flourish, then looks at him and frowns.

“Are you alright?” she asks. “You look a little rough.”

He shakes his head, managing a reassuring smile. “I’m good. Just feeling a little strange.”

The Doctor narrows her eyes and glances sharply at the central column of the controls, but doesn’t press further. He’s grateful for that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to come up with better lies if she asked more questions.

“What were you doing, anyways?” he asks.

“Oh, just putting a failsafe in the Silver Lady,” the Doctor says vaguely, waving her hand. “Hopefully it won’t be necessary, but I have a feeling it might be. Barton's using it to transfer the Kasaavin into computers, but he can't do that if the Silver Lady's blocking the Kasaavin themselves."

O nods, though he still doesn't quite understand. It's a feeling he's quickly getting used to.

“Doctor, is there…” he stops, looking for the right words. “Is there anything that can steal memories? Any sort of alien, or machine, or- alien machine?”

The Doctor freezes. She isn’t facing him, but he can see the way her hands grip tight on the edge of the console, her knuckles going white under the pressure.

“Why do you ask?” Her voice is tight, controlled, and not at all like he’s used to her sounding.

“I’ve just been getting these feelings, these memories of stuff I’ve never done,” O says quickly. “And every memory I have from my childhood doesn’t feel real.”

He can hear as the Doctor takes a deep, shaky breath in. “No, sorry, I have no idea what that could be. I can look into it after we deal with Barton, if you’d like?”

The words sound like her, if O ignores the tone and the way she won’t look up from the console. She sounds like she’s about to cry; frustration and deep sadness and anger all tangled up and barely covered by false cheer. Her fingers are still in a death grip on the console.

“Doctor, please don’t lie to me,” he whispers.

“I’ll lie to you if I want!” she snarls, finally turning from the console to face him. “I don’t need to tell you everything. You wouldn’t- even if I told you, you wouldn’t be able to understand.”

O starts to protest, but she cuts him off.

“It would break your mind, and you would die very, very painfully, while being very,  _ very _ aware of it for every second. I’ve seen it happen, and the only way to stop it would be to completely wipe your memory again. And I lo- I care about you too much to let that happen. Right now, you’re better off not remembering.”

Until that moment, O hadn’t really seen how the Doctor could be an alien. She’d told him, and he knew that she was telling the truth, but there’s a difference between knowing and believing. Right now, with her eyes dark and her face twisted into a grimace, lit from behind by the TARDIS’ amber glow, he suddenly realizes exactly how inhuman she is. No human could possibly bear that much pain and still live.

And then, just as quickly, the vision of beauty and suffering is gone, and it’s just the Doctor. She slumps against the console and sighs. “Just… just trust me, O. If I could fix this now, I would.”

“I do trust you,” O says, and he isn’t even surprised to find that it’s true. Of course he trusts the Doctor. It feels like such an integral part of who he is.

She smiles, soft and barely there, then straightens up. “Well, in that case, why don’t we get going? I’ve tracked the Silver Lady to here. Barton might be too, but even if he isn’t, he can’t complete his plan without the Silver Lady.”

O follows her out of the TARDIS and into a huge, empty room. Or, at first glance it appears empty. Then he looks around and sees that it’s just far bigger than he first thought. There’s a few lights illuminating the space, the Silver Lady in its case, already glowing and spinning, and… 

“My fam!” The Doctor’s eyes light up. “I was hoping you’d be here. Knew you’d follow Barton. Well, I say ‘knew’.”

“Less chatting, more stopping this weird statue from spinning!” Graham shouts.

“No need to worry!” she says. “It won’t do anything.”

O feels his mobile buzz. Before he even thinks about it, he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. Halfway through the motion, he remembers the quick explanation the Doctor had given of Barton's plan and tries to drop it.

Branching tendrils of light wrap around his arm, and he realizes with mounting horror that he can’t let go. The light winds its way further up his arm, twisting around itself and spreading. A staticy feeling, like pins and needles, follows the path of the lights upwards, leaving his fingers numb.

“Doctor!” he yelps.

She whirls around. “Oh no. No, this isn’t supposed to be happening. Don’t panic, O!”

As if that phrase has ever actually calmed someone down. Already, the lights have surrounded his head, that same fuzzy prickling now filling his mind. He can barely make out the shape of the Doctor now; everything is just bright white light. The whirr of her sonic screwdriver cuts through for a moment, but then it fades as he feels himself give in to the light.

It feels like he’s floating, just on the edge of sleep, mere seconds away from peace and darkness. Everything is pleasantly numb now, no more worries or physical sensation. Just the white light slowly eating away at his brain.

O ceases to exist, overwritten by the Kasaavin. But O isn’t the only thing in there.

The Doctor is panicking. She isn’t proud of it, and she wishes that she wasn’t, but there’s only so well someone can handle watching the love of their life getting destroyed before their eyes, and the Doctor has reached her limit on handling things well today.

She’d been so certain everything would work. The failsafe in the Silver Lady to stop the Kasaavin from coming through had been perfect. Barton’s plan should have failed. Even if it hadn’t, even if she’d been wrong and the Kasaavin made it through, O should have been fine. She’d never even considered that he wouldn’t be fine.

Somewhere between trying desperately to use her sonic on him and the realization that she can’t do anything to stop this, the Doctor collapses to her knees on the concrete floor. Her head is bent down - she can’t bear to look at what used to be Koschei.

The color of the glow shifts. It’s subtle, subtle enough that it takes her a few seconds to notice, but the cold white light becomes warm and golden. She can feel the Artron energy fizzing in the air, the buzz of change and life around her. Slowly, the Doctor looks up.

Being under the effects of a Chameleon Arch is a strange experience. The Time Lord’s consciousness is locked away, all the extra senses and memories and biology packaged neatly in the back of a human mind, compressed until it’s barely even there. The mind itself is muted and dulled, sent into a sort of deep slumber, and traditionally backed up in some sort of key that triggers the transformation back. There’s leakage, there always is, but usually only in the form of a few memories; they’re the easiest to slip through the block. For the most part, though, the system works. The Time Lord will stay slumbering, the human host will stay human, and nobody would know the difference until they got their hands on the key.

But, if something were to erode the block entirely while, say, trying to get rid of the human’s mind to make more room for itself… Then, perhaps, the system would begin to fail.

The Kasaavin don’t think or feel in the same way that creatures from other dimensions do. It would be nearly impossible to put into words exactly what this specific Kasaavin - if there is such a thing as a specific member of a species of identical, semi-sentient portals - felt when it tried to erase the mind of its chosen human and found, instead of blank space waiting to be filled, an extremely pissed off Time Lord. However, the closest thing that English could manage would be:

Oh,  **_fuck._ **

It happens slowly and yet all at once. In one moment, the figure before the Doctor is-was O. Then, with a flash of Artron gold and a distinct impression of unfolding, the figure is the Master. There isn't any clear change, at least not any that a human would be able to see, but the Doctor  _ knows. _ For the past seven months, her time senses have only picked up the straight, dull lines of temporally linear beings, but now they’re alight with the feeling of another Time Lord. She can finally sense his mind again.

The Master laughs, and then promptly collapses to the floor in a heap.

The light of the Kasaavin flickers in the air where he had stood, an afterimage in flickering white, before folding in on itself and disappearing entirely. Not that the Doctor really notices; she’s too busy scanning the Master with her sonic to make sure that he’s alright.

Both hearts are beating, he’s breathing properly, and his mind is mostly unharmed. She breathes a sigh of relief and presses her forehead against his, closing her eyes and finally relaxing for the first time since Gallifrey.

“Doctor?” Grace’s voice breaks the quiet. “Are you okay, love? Is he alive?”

The Doctor turns, though she keeps one hand on the Master's chest, feeling his hearts. “I’m fine. He’s- he’s better than alive. The Kasaavin, they were trying to overwrite his DNA, but they broke the block over his Time Lord consciousness instead.”

“Is he back to normal, then?” Graham asks. “Or as normal as you lot get.”

“That’s really not how this is meant to happen,” she says, shaking her head. “So he’s probably going to need some time to recover, but… yeah. He’s himself again.”

“Oh, great,” Ryan mutters. “I was just waiting for the homicidal maniac who thinks hiding his pet spider in my room is funny to come back.”

“Ah!” the Doctor exclaims. “The cat! I need to go get the cat.”

“What cat?” Yaz asks. “And shouldn’t we be more worried about the glowing aliens?”

“Nah, they’re stuck back where they belong.” The Doctor points at the Silver Lady. “This machine allows them to pass into our dimension, so I built a failsafe into it. When they tried to get through, it blocked them, sent them home, and hopefully it should keep them there.”

“I’m still not clear on what they were trying to do in the first place,” Graham complains.

“The Kasaavin can’t exist in our dimension normally, so they were trying to use you lot as hosts. You’ve got so much space in your DNA, if they could rewrite it they’d be set. They got Barton to help by building the Silver Lady and designing a way to use your technology against you - transferring the Kasaavin through your computers and into you,” the Doctor explains. “Pretty clever, actually, though he really didn’t know what he was working with. If they’d gotten through, the holes it’d create between our dimension and theirs would’ve put everything in danger.”

She can tell by the looks on her companions’ faces that they don’t truly understand, but the explanation seems to be enough for now. Another time, she would be happy to go into more detail, explaining exactly how all of it worked, but currently the only thoughts on her mind are of the Master.

Grace exchanges a quick look with the others. “Why don’t you drop us off at home, and you can handle Barton by yourself? I know I’m feeling pretty jetlagged.”

Sometimes, the Doctor is very grateful that she has Grace. She’s grateful for all of her fam, really.

“Yeah, I’m knackered,” Graham agrees.

Ryan and Yaz quickly catch on and start nodding.

“You humans and your sleep,” the Doctor sighs, suppressing a smile. “Go on, wait in the TARDIS. I’ll be right there.”

Grace gives her a gentle pat on the shoulder as she passes, and for once the unexpected touch isn’t too bad. Once the four humans are inside the TARDIS, the Doctor presses her forehead to the Master's again. She can feel the ebb and flow of his mind, calm and uninterrupted for once, and she never wants to be bereft of it again.

“I’ve missed you, Koschei,” she whispers.

He doesn’t react, but she knows that he heard. When she lifts him off of the floor and into her arms, he shifts slightly and tucks his head into the crook of her neck. The Doctor smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have no idea how long I've been waiting to post this chapter  
> I'm going to miss writing soft boy O, but I've missed our favorite purple asshole even more


	12. Interlude: Silk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be two parts of this interlude, because I have many soft feelings about Them  
> Well, I say soft...

The Doctor wouldn’t say that she rushed to take her companions home, but she certainly didn’t stay long after landing in Sheffield. There were far more important things to worry about.

A more thorough scan from the TARDIS' medbay confirms what the Doctor already knew - no permanent physical damage, though there might be some memory issues - and she moves the Master to her room. Eventually, she’ll need to deal with Barton and clean up the remains of his plan, but for now she just wants to ignore the universe beyond him.

Not long after she settles in, the Master begins to stir with a small, pained noise. The Doctor immediately marks her page in the book she was only half-reading and cautiously rests one hand on his head, winding her fingers into his hair.

“Theta?” He sounds uncertain, almost like he doesn’t expect her to be there.

Her first instinct is to ask whether he means her or the cat, but she already knows which. “I’m here, Koschei. What do you remember?”

“You,” he says softly, and the Doctor feels her hearts melt. “Gallifrey. I went into the Matrix Chamber, and…” His eyes screw shut and he grimaces. “Nothing after that.”

The Doctor wishes she could be more surprised. Whatever he had found, it had been deep enough in the Matrix to exhaust his telepathic capabilities, and that almost certainly meant it was off-limits. The Matrix would have naturally started trying to destroy the redacted information the moment he left, and the combination of the Chameleon Arch and the Kasaavin certainly didn’t help.

“Do you remember anything else?” she asks. “You were human for a little while. Well, I say a little while. Seven months.”

He makes a face. “ _ That’s _ why I feel so terrible. Please tell me I wasn’t working for some humanitarian charity.”

It's a clear deflection from actually talking about what happened, but the Doctor doesn't blame him for it. She laughs. “No. Just running numbers for some company.”

“Good,” the Master mutters. Then he tosses one arm across the Doctor’s middle and inches closer, snuggling into her side. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, dear, I’m going to sleep here for a few decades.”

She smiles and rests her hand on his back, feeling the steady beat of his hearts beneath her touch. It’s soothing, reassuring in a way that nothing else is. Seven months is a blink of an eye by Time Lord standards, but it’s a very, very long time to live a lie. Now that she finally has the Master back in her arms, she doesn’t intend to let go.

Eventually, though, the Master falls back asleep, and the Doctor grows a little bored. For all that she’d spent those long months thinking about how she was going to re-learn every inch of him when he came back… her attention span has its limits, and she's still too energized to sleep. So, very slowly, the Doctor extracts herself from the Master’s grasp and gets out of bed. This takes several tries, because each time she attempts to remove his arm from her waist, he stubbornly puts it back. Finally, she manages to get free, after shoving a pillow under his arm in place of her torso.

The Doctor is nearly out the door when she remembers his surprise at her presence, and she turns around to scribble an explanation on the back of a sheet of paper in case he wakes up alone.  _ Just in my workshop, promise I didn’t leave. _ She debates signing it, starts to write a three word sentiment that the Master would probably mock, and simply doodles a pair of cartoony hearts instead. It’s silly, but he’ll get the idea.

The Master wakes up slowly, forcing himself past the warm fuzziness of sleep and into the slightly less fuzzy, though equally warm, reality of the Doctor’s bed. His first instinct is to tug the Doctor closer to him, but instead, he finds his arms full of pillow. Precariously seated on top of the aforementioned deception is a crumpled sheet of paper with sloppy writing that he's barely awake enough to decipher.

At least she left a note this time, he thinks, and she even drew little hearts on it. It’s sweet, in a very Doctor-y way; utterly ridiculous yet endearing. After another moment of waking up, the Master drags himself out of her bed, pulls on a far less monochrome suit, and stumbles towards her workshop.

He’s trying very hard not to think about what had happened. Remembering anything past looking into the Matrix sends spikes of pain shooting through his head like drumbeats, and the memories of being human hurt for a whole host of other reasons.

Being human is always disorientating for a Time Lord, but the Master hates it more than most, and O is far worse than his previous human self had been. Professor Yana had been born of necessity; a hard choice, but a choice nonetheless. O had been the consequence of actions that he can’t even remember now, and he had been so damnably saccharine the whole time. And the Doctor had loved him.

Not the same way she loves  _ him, _ Koschei, the Master, but love either way. The memories are hazy, but he remembers the way she looked at O, how kind she had been. She hasn't been that kind to him since they were children.

Halfway to the workshop, his head buzzing with self-hatred - does it count as that, when O was so very different from him? - the Master gets an idea. He makes a detour.

When he finds her, the Doctor is in her workshop, sleeves rolled up and goggles perched on her forehead as she messes with something that he thinks might be a theremin. She looks up from the veritable junkyard of parts to smile at him. O hadn't seen that smile, only the one she saves for her humans. The Master isn't sure how to feel about that.

"Oh good, you're feeling better!" she says brightly. "And you saw my note! What do you need?"

Wordlessly, he tosses one of the fencing foils he had taken from the TARDIS’ armory to the Doctor. She catches it, of course she does, and raises an eyebrow.

“You sure?” she asks. “The last time we did this…"

“Yes, Doctor, I’m sure,” he replies, perhaps a bit sharper than he intended. “Now, come on!"

In the span of a second, her face goes from a dubious expression to a grin he can only describe as  _ feral _ . It’s all the warning he gets before she lunges at him, but it’s enough for him to raise his own blade to block hers before she can make contact.

He’s off balance enough that he has to take a step back, quickly, to avoid losing his footing entirely, and the Doctor quickly presses her advantage, managing to force him almost out of the room before he pushes back. Her own stance is steadier than his, and she holds her ground as she parries, and then leans forward into a quick jab aimed at his ribs that sends him darting back and out the door. He knows for a fact the foils are sharp, having tested them when he grabbed them, and he’s fond enough of this outfit that he’d rather avoid getting it poked full of holes.

Their delighted laughter rings out as they make their way down the hall, blades clashing every few feet. The Doctor seems to think she’s winning, by the confidence in her steps and the sharpness of her smile. She’s wrong, of course, but the Master is hardly going to give away his plan so early.

He subtly maneuvers them down the hall and into the pool, which is no easy feat done backwards and while fending off the Doctor’s blows. Luckily, she’s too distracted by their fight to realize where they are before it’s too late. When the Master presses forwards, she takes a step back to brace herself, and promptly falls into the deep end of the pool. She surfaces a moment later, thoroughly drenched and utterly furious.

The Master, being a Time Lord possessed of something that at least resembles common sense, hightails it out of the room before the Doctor can escape the water. He does pause for a brief moment at the door to commit the sight to memory, but by that point the Doctor is pulling herself to her feet, so it’s a  _ very _ brief moment.

She’s faster than he is, always has been, so instead of an outright dash he opts to duck into the rainforest. Technically, that’s its own separate floor, but TARDISes are not on good terms with such things as Euclidean space or logic, so the Master forgoes the stairwell in favor of simply opening a door there. He doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him, since it won’t really make a difference.

The dense greenery of the rainforest does not make for the best surface to run on, but the towering trees provide enough cover that the Master manages to lose the Doctor fairly quickly. He takes the moment of reprieve to catch his breath and plot his next move.

The Doctor is not really one for stealth when she can avoid it, so he hears her coming before she can find him. The gentle fall of her boots on the soft carpet of vegetation is quieter than a human would be able to hear, but they aren’t pretending to be human right now.

Seeing an opportunity, the Master carefully circles around until he can see her as she creeps through the undergrowth towards where she thinks he is. Perhaps attacking from behind is unfair, but the Master can’t bring himself to care. Either way, it’s not enough to let him win, as the Doctor whirls around and brings her foil up to block his with a clash of metal.

“No cheating, Koschei,” she teases, brushing her wet hair from her face with one hand.

“We never set rules,” he replies. He tries not to revel in the use of his name, the reminder of his identity.

At that, she shrugs in agreement, and then just as quick, she’s on the attack again, forcing the Master back. He’s careful not to back himself into a tree, because that would be a frankly embarrassing way to lose.

The Doctor, however, is less cautious about the slippery, half-decayed plant matter beneath her boots. One moment, she's on the attack with a sharp smile, and the next, she's stumbling and catching herself on a nearby tree.

Ever the opportunist, the Master presses the tip of his foil to her throat as she begins to straighten. The Doctor goes remarkably still.

"Impressive footwork," he remarks. "Now, I believe this is the part where you kneel and surrender."

She rolls her eyes, and he digs the cold metal just a little deeper into her skin. They both know he doesn't mean it, but it's part of the game. After a tense, breathless heartsbeat, she kneels.

It doesn't feel right, though. The Master shakes off the feeling and keeps going.

"Now, surrender," he orders.

He tries not to let the desperation welling up inside him slip into his voice. It's been less than 24 Earth hours since he was human, since he was  _ O _ , and he still doesn't feel quite right. He needs to be himself again, and this oft-repeated match between him and the Doctor is an easy fallback.

From the way her gaze softens, just a little, from the faked disdain, he doesn't quite keep his emotions in check. This body's always been a bit of a crier.

"I surrender, Master," she says softly.

That still isn't right. Right now, he should be happy, not on the verge of tears. And yet, something in the depths of his mind is screaming that this is all wrong. Something that he can’t try to remember without his whole mind hurting.

Without really thinking, he tosses his foil to the ground and sinks to his knees at the Doctor's side. In an instant, she's shifting and pulling him into a comforting embrace. Her clothes are damp, but the Master doesn't care. This had never happened with O, either. She had always kept a very careful distance between them.

"You're okay," she soothes. "It's okay, Koschei."

It's so easy to melt into her touch, feeling the beat of her hearts as she holds him. One of her hands traces patterns on his back, the other coming up to toy with his hair.

Slowly, politely, the Doctor's mind presses up against his. He lets her in without hesitation. His mind was so  _ empty _ when he was a human and there's still too much space without her there.

The Doctor's mind is as mutable as the Doctor herself. Some days she's a cozy fire, settling into the depths of his mind and warming him from the bottom up; others, she is a tangle of emotions coiling around his thoughts like she owns them. She always feels like home. Now, she's deliberately making her mind soft and comforting, a protection from the jagged edges of his thoughts and splintering memories.

"You should get some more rest," she whispers.

_ "I'm worried about you," _ is added in the privacy of their minds, too true and too loving for anywhere else.

"Only if you join me," he says, and it comes out more genuine than he'd planned. “And… stay this time.”

"Of course."

She squeezes him just a little closer, and then releases him to get to her feet. They leave their foils where they are - the TARDIS will understand - and walk back to the Doctor's room hand in hand.

They curl around each other like they used to when they were children smushing into one tiny bed, because Theta had the worst nightmares and Koschei couldn't sleep alone and neither of them had anyone else. The Doctor holds the Master just a little too close, and the Master loves it just a little too much, and they're both so deep in the other's mind that they fall asleep nearly simultaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had the sword fight scene written for MONTHS and I'm so happy to finally share it


	13. Interlude: Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bonus Labor Day chapter, featuring the character you all have been asking about - Theta the cat! Since you guys loved him a lot more than I expected you to

They go back to get the cat, eventually, once the Master brings it up casually one day. He tries to pretend that he doesn't care, but the Doctor can tell he's delighted when Theta purrs at him and curls around his legs. He’s always been a cat person. Privately, the Doctor thinks it's good for him to have creatures to care about that aren't her. She draws the line at letting Theta sleep in bed with them, though, despite the Master’s insistence.

And strangely, both of them have been sleeping more. Perhaps the Master grew used to a regular circadian rhythm while he was O, or perhaps they're both eager for an excuse to lay together in bed; either way, the Doctor's room - now closer to being  _ theirs, _ since the Master rarely uses his - is occupied often.

Not that they're lucky enough to get restful nights. Even before, both of them had been prone to nightmares, but now it's a rare thing for them to go more than a few hours without someone waking up screaming. For the Master, it's hazy golden memories of the depths of the Matrix, the details too painful to recall but the fear all too real. For the Doctor, it's the thought of losing him again, waking up one morning without feeling his heartbeats and his mind tangled around her own.

Sometimes, they'll both dream of a child, alone, suffering, and hoping for rescue. Each time, the child is different-yet-the-same, and each time, they both wake up with their hearts racing. They don't talk about those dreams.

"I need to take care of Daniel Barton," the Doctor says idly. She winds blades of blue grass, plucked out of the ground of the nameless planet they sit on, around her fingers until they snap. "You could come too, if you want."

“When you say ‘take care of’, love, do you mean that you’re going to let me have a little fun with him?” the Master asks, grinning.

“Maybe,” she shrugs.

They both know that’s a yes. Making sure that the Master recovered properly took precedence over ensuring Barton faced consequences for his actions, and the extra time has allowed the Doctor to think on what exactly those consequences will be.

Perhaps, Daniel is willing to admit, his plan with the Kasaavin had been foolish. He hadn’t had enough information to control them, and he’d been sloppy in disposing of those who discovered him. If he’d just killed the intelligence agents instead of letting the Kasaavin take them, if he’d double checked the Silver Lady one more time, then perhaps...

But the past is in the past, and the present is more pressing. The major issue now is avoiding the prying eyes of UNIT. Daniel had known that they might pose an obstacle to his plans, but he had never considered that he would fail and have to dodge their agents. The woman in charge - Steward, or something - remains irritatingly unbribable.

The only thing keeping him ahead of the people pursuing him is his access to the VOR servers, and even that might soon be gone. But by the time that happens, he plans to be hiding in a conveniently obscure country where he can recuperate. Bhutan, maybe, or Mongolia.

Currently, though, he’s eating lunch in a motel cheap enough to not ask questions, cursing himself for being a fool. Then the strange noise starts up - a low, wheezing sort of groan. Daniel assumes it’s the overworked AC unit jutting out from the grimy window, but that theory is immediately proven wrong when a tall blue box begins to phase into existence directly in front of the door.

After a moment, two people step out. It takes him a moment to place their faces, but when he does, he goes cold. One is the terrifying woman who had  _ known, _ somehow, about his plan; the other is the man who’d followed after her like a lost puppy. The Kasaavin had gotten rid of them - Daniel had watched it happen. And yet, there they stand, looking at him like he’s a particularly annoying pest or an interesting toy.

“You aren’t real,” he gasps.

“Oh, we are. We very much are.” The man grins, and Daniel realizes that there is no possible way this is the same man from the party. Before, he had been so quiet and easy to ignore that Daniel hadn’t noticed him until he’d followed the woman into Daniel’s office. Now, he has a  _ presence, _ a sharpness very similar to the woman’s.

“Daniel Barton,” the woman sighs. She sounds almost pitying as she says his name. “I did try to warn you. Messing with things from other dimensions will just get you into trouble.”

Daniel can’t even put words together to reply. She doesn’t seem to need a response from him, though.

“It was a good plan, though,” she continues. “Very nearly worked. You’re lucky I stopped it. Do you know what would’ve happened, if the Kasaavin had gotten through to this dimension?”

Her tone makes it clear that this is not a question he can ignore. Wordlessly, he shakes his head. He thought he knew, but clearly he was wrong; the Kasaavin had used him just as much as he’d tried to use them.

“I do,” the man says brightly. “The universe would break like  _ that _ -” he snaps his fingers “-and everything would die. Not just here, but everywhere in and near this dimension. Truly endless destruction. Maximum carnage.”

He sounds almost  _ hungry _ when he says that, as if longing for such a thing. The woman looks at him sharply, and some of the predatory glee dims in his eyes. Some, but certainly not all.

“Now, I'm guessing you aren't here by choice," the woman says, glancing around the room. "Plan to take over the world didn't go too well, hmm?"

There's a hint of smugness in her voice that sends realization shooting through Daniel's mind. "This is your fault."

"Little bit," she admits. "Might've stuck a virus in your machine. Sent the Kasaavin back where they belong, permanently. You certainly won't be trying anything like  _ that _ again.” Grinning - the same sharp baring of teeth as when she had said she was hard to get rid of - she steps forward, and Daniel shrinks back reflexively. “Now, I would ask if you’ve learned your lesson, but I think that suitcase there is stuffed with money and a fake passport, and you’re planning to run off somewhere nobody will look for you until this all blows over.”

“It’s what I would do,” the man agrees. “Well, I would’ve had an escape plan from the start, but it was his first try. Can’t expect much.”

“You’d know, wouldn't you?” A fond smile tugs at the woman’s lips. “Teaming up with a mysterious alien race only to get betrayed and then thwarted by me sounds an awful lot like you, back when we were younger. You always had more style, though.”

Despite being trapped in a motel room with a pair of terrifying people who may or may not be planning to kill him, Daniel gets the distinct feeling that he’s currently third-wheeling a twisted, sadistic sort of date night. There’s no way that exchange wasn’t a bizarre attempt at flirting. And, worse, from the way they’re looking at each other, it’s working. Part of him wishes that they would just make up their minds and either kill him or leave.

He instantly regrets thinking that when the woman’s attention snaps back to him with unnerving intensity. In the dull, cheap light, her eyes look pure black and merciless.

“As I was saying, you haven’t learned. I gave you a chance - twice, even! - and you turned them both down. Really, I should be making sure that you learn the consequences of that. But,” her gaze softens and she looks at the man, “you did, indirectly, help us. So I’m going to be nice, and I’m just going to turn you in to UNIT and let them deal with you.”

Five minutes ago, he would have thought that to be the furthest possible thing from being  _ nice. _ Now, he can’t even bear to consider the alternatives, though the man’s smile leaves very little to consider.

He nods, hoping it doesn’t seem as frantic as he feels.

“We’re going to leave,” the woman says, “and you, Mr. Barton, are going to stay right here until UNIT picks you up.”

“We’ll know if you don’t,” the man adds. “Don’t push what little luck you might have left. Unlike my partner, I’d rather just kill you.”

Daniel has no trouble believing that. Neither of them seem entirely  _ right, _ and he doesn’t doubt that they could get rid of him if they wanted to without a second thought.

With one last glance, the pair return to their impossible box. It disappears a moment later with the same mournful groan, leaving Daniel alone in the room.

For a brief moment, he does consider making a run for it, before he remembers the cruel glee in both of their eyes and decides that, whatever UNIT may do to him, at least it will mean he never has to see that again.

The Master leans against the Doctor’s side as she dematerializes the TARDIS. “That was fun, wasn’t it dear?”

“Hopefully he’ll learn not to mess with extradimensional beings that could destroy reality as we know it,” the Doctor says, not actually answering the question.

“I am just a little disappointed that he didn’t do something stupid,” he sighs. “You can’t tell me that you weren’t hoping for an excuse too.”

She had - oh, how she had. There had been a second, when she’d seen him figure out that it was her who destroyed his plan, when she’d been certain that he was going to try to hurt her. Part of her, a far larger part than she’d admit to, had wanted him to do it, just so that she could retaliate.

The Doctor shakes her head, and the Master makes a noise, half of disappointment and half of annoyance.

“Don’t lie to me, love. I could feel you the whole time, and you,” he cups her face in one hand, gentle and loving, “were enjoying it. He deserved it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did,” she says softly, then she shakes her head. “I should have just called UNIT, we never should have-”

“Doctor, stop making yourself guilty for once.” The Master runs his thumb along her cheekbone. “You’re allowed to have fun.”

Before she can reply, he kisses her. It’s not the first time since he returned, but she reacts much the same - melting into his touch and repositioning her hands to hold him as close to her as she can. This, at least, she doesn’t feel guilty for enjoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, it's Heist Time Babey! That's right, it's another original arc; this time, there's going to be a potentially familiar face... Some of you Classic Who viewers will know who I mean when she shows up


	14. Acquired Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heist time! Or, more accurately, the set up for the heist.

Alarms ring through the console room as the Doctor attempts to land the TARDIS. The ship lists sharply from one side to the other, nearly sending both Time Lords off balance each time it does so.

"Just park  _ inside _ the safe," the Master snaps. "I know you can't steer, but surely you can manage that."

"I'm telling you, there's shielding!" the Doctor replies, shoving past him to move around the console. "I can't!"

"There isn't anti-TARDIS shielding, we're landing in 2458," he says, as if explaining it to a small child. "Your ship is just badly in need of repairs. Better yet, get a new one!"

The console room lights flash warning-red, and the Master grumbles an apology under his breath. The Doctor tries to materialize again, only for the TARDIS to get knocked backwards into the Vortex forcefully enough to send both Time Lords stumbling.

With remarkable luck, the Doctor lands on the Master without jabbing him with any flailing limbs. As the TARDIS settles, she props herself up on her hands and looks down at him.

He stares back up at her, like she's the only thing in the world. After a moment, she leans down until their noses touch, and says, "Told you there was shielding."

Then, smiling, she stands up and looks at the monitors, leaving the Master on the ground. Predictably, the TARDIS is a little annoyed at being slammed into temporal barriers strong enough to force her into the Vortex, and she expresses that with some very pointed warning messages on the screens. 

"So how do you propose we get the bomb?" the Master asks, pulling himself to his feet.

The Doctor sticks her hands into her pockets, rocking back and forth on her feet. "Not sure yet."

“We could just let the idiots keep it,” he suggests. “I’m sure they’ll figure out it’s not an ancient statue eventually.”

“Earth doesn’t get destroyed in the twenty-fifth century by a rogue Sontaran bomb,” she says firmly, “and we’re going to keep it that way.”

The Master rolls his eyes. “When I suggested that we spend some more time together before fetching your companions, I was hoping for something a little more fun than rescuing your favorite planet. Again.”

“You get to steal a dangerous weapon from the heart of a heavily-protected mansion!” the Doctor protests. “You love that sort of thing!”

“Maybe if we could actually get into the mansion,” he says pointedly. With a dramatic sigh and wide, sad eyes, he adds, “You won’t let me hypnotise the guards, you won’t let me just kill them all… it’s like you don’t want me to have any fun.”

“It’s a challenge,” she retorts. “Now, come help me recalibrate the-” The Doctor stops mid-sentence, staring at something on the monitor with delight. “Oh, that’s good. That’s very good.”

Leaning his chin on her shoulder, the Master looks at the screen. It’s a timeline map for the current owner of the bomb - one Sir Richard Arden, curator of the New London Art Museum - with important dates marked in red. One day in particular stands out, though.

“A new gallery opens in the museum,” he reads. “You don’t think he’d be stupid enough to-”

“It’s the crowning exhibit.” She grins. “Ooh, and there’s a gala on opening night! Love a good gala. Or, I used to. Not sure now.”

“There’s going to be security, love. We need a plan.” The Master’s eyes light up with excitement that promises nothing good. “A  _ real _ plan.”

The Doctor drops the Master off during the construction of the New London Art Museum to steal -  _ acquire, _ he had insisted, but they both know it’s stealing - the schematics, while she does research on the security systems.

It’s strangely thrilling to see him in his element; plotting and scheming, preparing contingencies and complicated webs of cause and effect. Usually, she only watches his plans unfold from the inside, and it’s so easy to miss the elegance and attention to detail when she’s more worried about stopping the doomsday device from going off. Now, though, she can properly appreciate the artistry of it, without any of the typical guilt or near-death experiences. She likes it far more than she should.

More importantly, though, the Master is enjoying it. Ever since he'd returned, he's been  _ off. _ The Doctor can't pinpoint exactly how, but it's worrying. Part of it is probably due to the Chameleon Arch, but she can tell that he's still frustrated that he can't remember what he found on Gallifrey. It torments him, and it hurts that she can’t help.

The Doctor's mind wanders from the Master as she works, flitting from topic to topic. Absently, she reaches out to him, and- he isn’t there. She freezes, her hearts suddenly pounding. It only takes a moment to find him again, but it’s long enough for her to panic. The last time she’d felt his mind leave hers-

She shakes her head, tightens her grip on her sonic, and tries not to think about it. The Master’s concern presses against her mind, but she sends back reassurance instead of an explanation; he doesn’t need to be worrying about her absurd panic on top of everything else. She’s fine.

The Master announces his return by dropping the blueprints that he’s  _ acquired _ on top of the Doctor’s workbench, much to her annoyance. Pointedly, she picks them back up and holds them out to him.

“There’s other places to put these, you know,” she points out.

“Yes, but they wouldn’t be nearly as effective for getting your attention,” he replies. “And you’re done with everything anyway.”

He’s right, but the Doctor isn’t going to admit that. Her part of the preparation has been done for a while now, and she’s been working single-heartedly on a few other projects since. Without the Master close, without knowing that he was okay, she couldn’t make herself  _ focus _ on anything. That’s bad, probably, but she doesn’t feel like she can address that yet.

“Why don’t we go to the library?” she offers. “Ooh! And I’ll make tea.”

The Master makes a face. “ _ No. _ The last time you were responsible for making drinks, you gave me food poisoning.”

“You just have a weak stomach,” the Doctor mutters. After he raises his eyebrows, she acquiesces. “Fine.  _ You _ make the tea, and I’ll set us up for a proper heist planning sesh. I’ve always wanted to be part of a heist. Well, I was once. Did I ever tell you that I robbed the Bank of Karabraxos?”

"During a solar storm, yes," he says. "You told me."

She hums; now that he mentions it, she does remember telling Missy. The story had been dragged out of the Doctor after a night of music and a little too much ginger, and Missy had been all too eager to tease him about his hypocrisy. That night had been one of the happier ones, despite the hangover the next morning.

“See, prior experience!” She grins. “This’ll be easy.”

It was, contrary to the Doctor’s prediction, not easy.

“I’m not going to spend months infiltrating the staff just to get access to the bomb,” she says firmly. “That’s  _ boring. _ I wouldn’t be good at having a job anyways, they’d fire me.”

“Remind me how many years you spent teaching in the same location?” the Master asks, raising an eyebrow. “Nearly eighty, if I recall correctly - and trust me, dear, I do. I didn’t have much else to do then other than keep count.”

“That was different! I was different,” she protests. Then, without really thinking, she adds, “And you were there, so it wasn’t that bad.”

He looks up at her in surprise. She hadn’t meant to admit that, but it’s true. Under any other set of circumstances, staying put for seven decades and change would’ve driven her mad no matter how patient she was. With Missy there, it had been… well, easier wasn’t the right word, but more bearable.

“Fine, no long term plan,” he says after a moment. “We’ll have to go in as guests, then. Stealing it before it’s revealed is dramatic, but…”

“Risky,” she finishes. “We can steal it afterwards.”   


“Everyone will be coming close to it to look,” he agrees. “What kind of security measures does the place have?”

“It’s pretty advanced.” The Doctor pulls out a crumpled piece of paper with a list scribbled on it in somewhat neat Gallifreyan. “Cutting edge, really. Temporally sensitive pressure plates under the exhibits, micro-laser netting around the whole building, hyper-plastic cases... and that’s just the stuff they have on record. There were references to other things, but they either aren’t listed on the servers, or they’re  _ very _ well-hidden.”

The Master taps his fingers along the desk their papers are spread out on. “We could-”

“We’re not going to torture, intimidate, hypnotise, or bribe the information out of the head of security,” she interrupts. “Trying to save people, remember? We’ll improvise!”

“That’s usually the back-up plan, love, not the main one,” he sighs.

“For you, maybe. And which one of us usually wins?”

To be fair, the Master only rarely tried to actually kill her, giving her an automatic advantage, and the Doctor has always been better at dismantling plans than making them. Anyone else would be doomed if they were to be trapped in one of the Master’s plots, but they simply know each other far too well for it to be anything less than an even playing field.

Scowling, the Master picks up a pen and throws it at the Doctor’s head. She catches it, then tosses it back at him, grinning when it bounces off of his shoulder.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you’re the one who spent centuries following me around,” the Doctor says smugly. It’s an obvious attempt to rile him up, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Rather quickly, their plan is forgotten in favor of other, far more interesting things. Not that it’s going to matter, of course; despite the Master’s complaints, they’ve always preferred to improvise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time... Gratuitous descriptions of them being Soft(AKA the Master being soft while the Doctor is a little gremlin about it)  
> Then, yes, the actual crime


	15. Remade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just softness. There is very little plot and I probably didn't Need to put this chapter in, but I really wanted to write them having some more soft moments. Next time, the actual gala happens, and there's some more angst!

Ever since they were children and Theta had refused to adhere to the Academy dress code, the Master’s known that the Doctor’s fashion sense is bizarre at best, and nonexistent at worst. Sometimes it’s not too bad - their eighth body, with all the velvet and lace, for example. Other times, it’s a 15 foot long scarf or a coat with colors that shouldn’t exist. Either way, though, the Doctor is always eye-catching, and this time around is no different.

The vest she’s wearing over a simple white blouse is deep blue and patterned with constellations, while her suit jacket and trousers are a darker, midnight blue. Her hair is ever-so-slightly curled, shining like gold in the warm light of the TARDIS. The Master can barely take his eyes off of her. He’s also pretty sure that she didn’t actually read the fine print on their forged invitations to the gala as she made them.

“You are aware that there’s a dress code?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “While you look wonderful, dear, I don’t think that suit is very Renaissance.” 

She stops halfway to the console. “What?”

“The gala has a Renaissance theme,” the Master explains, a little bit smug. “What they think of as Renaissance, at least.”

“I was wondering what was up with the puffy sleeves.” The Doctor gestures at her arm in a motion that could generously be interpreted as ‘puffy sleeves’. “Okay, so I’ll go change my trousers, maybe grab one of those fun floppy hats-”

The Master shakes his head. “Nope. 25th century, love, they still care about gender. I  _ know _ the wardrobe has dresses.”

Her expression shifts from excitement to annoyance in a split second.

“What is it with humans and gender?” she mutters. Then, slightly more sheepish, “It’s been a while since I wore a dress. Not that I can’t figure it out, but...”

“I’ve had more recent experience,” he finishes with a nod. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll help.”

The Doctor relaxes, though she still looks a bit uncertain.

While the Master embraced dresses and makeup and high-heeled shoes with enthusiasm as Missy, the Doctor’s been more reluctant to do the same. Which, he supposes, isn’t very surprising; she’s never cared much about gender beyond how her humans perceive her, and she’s spent the past few millennia being perceived as male. Adjusting to the change, beyond pronouns, isn’t something she’s interested in.

“Think of it as part of the heist,” the Master adds, grinning.

“Why is there so much fabric?” the Doctor complains, plucking irritably at the top skirt of her dress. It’s roughly the same shade of blue that her vest had been, but that’s about where the similarities end. “There’s no point.”

She shifts slightly in her chair as the Master tries to do something with her hair. There had been a mutual agreement that makeup was unlikely to happen, but the Master had insisted on at least styling her hair.

“Doctor, either stay put,” he grits out around a mouthful of bobby pins, “or I will tie you to this chair until I’m done.”

“Won’t work,” she points out, though she tries to stop moving. “You know I’m good at getting out of restraints.”

He sighs heavily, and then jabs another pin into her hair with far more force than the Doctor thinks is really needed. After a few more pins and a lot of second-hand frustration leaking into her mind, the Master hands her a small mirror.

“It’s not bad,” she admits, after checking from a few different angles.

Most of her hair is tucked back and pinned up, with a few loose strands framing her face. It’s also the first proper look she’s had at the front of her dress, now that she’s wearing it. The silvery lacing is tight against her chest, and the wide neckline leaves her shoulders almost completely bare. Seeing herself like this is strange, and she’s not entirely sure that she likes it, but it’s tolerable for one night.

“Don’t touch your head, and try not to run,” the Master says, taking the mirror back. “I know those two things are nigh impossible for you to avoid, but if you mess this up, I’ll have to redo it all over again.” He shudders theatrically. “I don’t think either of us want that to happen.”

The Doctor nods quickly. It had taken entirely too long to do her hair once, and she dreads the thought of having to sit still for it again.

The Master grimaces and puts a halting hand up. “Don’t do that either. Just don’t move your head at all, if possible.”

“How did you live with this for centuries?” she wonders. “I  _ know _ Missy ran around a fair bit.”

“Practice, hairspray, and lots of pins,” he replies. “Now, come on. We still need to find shoes for you.”

She groans. “I have shoes! There’s nothing wrong with them!”

“You have boots,” the Master corrects. “And they don’t go with your dress.”

Despite the urge to argue that they won’t be visible under the skirt, the Doctor knows he’s right. She’s spent enough time with more fashion-conscious companions to know that this time, she won’t be able to get away with the boots.

“No heels,” she says. “I need to be able to run.”

“Trust me, love, I wasn’t planning it.” He grins. “As hilarious as the thought of you trying to walk in heels is, we need to blend in.”

The Doctor glares. “I’ve worn heels before.”

“I know,” the Master says. “You looked wonderful, and then you nearly took out Ushas’ thesis project because you tried to balance yourself on the edge of the table.”

“She was mad at me for weeks,” she says fondly.

“And that is why you’re not wearing heels.”

In the end, they settle on a pair of plain black flats that slip on easily over the stockings the Doctor begrudgingly agreed to wear. They’re snug enough that, in a pinch, she could probably run in them for a little while. For lack of better options, she settles for that. Worst case scenario, she could always take them off.

The Master looks briefly horrified when she mentions that. “That’ll ruin your stockings, your hair, and probably the dress. Just- try not to run. If everything goes according to plan, then you won’t even need to.”

She gives him an incredulous look - they both know how rare that is. He rolls his eyes in response.

“Now, do you think you can steer in that?” he asks. “Or, at least, not steer much worse than usual?”

“Yes, I can still fly in this. 90 percent sure,” she says. After a moment, she amends it to, “70 percent sure.”

“You know, if you took the controls off isomorphic, I could help." He does the thing with his eyes where they go wide and innocent and it's  _ completely _ unfair.

“They’ve  _ been _ off isomorphic for ages,” the Doctor replies. “She’s just being petty.”

The lights in the wardrobe flicker. A pulse of petulant disagreement fills the Doctor’s mind.

“You are, and you know it,” she says to the ceiling. “He’s been good! You’re just unreasonable and jealous.”

Annoyance, a pause, then an apology. The closest the TARDIS will get to one, at least. The old girl holds grudges for longer than is probably healthy, sometimes.

“Thank you.” The Doctor pats the nearest wall gently. “She says that she’s sorry.”

“Finally,” the Master sighs. “It’s been centuries since the paradox machine, and believe me, I’ve apologized for that ever since.”

The Doctor tangles her fingers with his. “I know.” To the TARDIS, she adds, “ _ I promise, I wouldn’t have him here if I didn’t trust him. _ ”

She gets back a sense of protective concern. Every time that he’d hurt her in the past, every time she’d spent hours overthinking his actions, every time she’d wished that he’d just  _ stop _ ; the TARDIS helped her through all of them.

Her hearts twist. “ _ I know. We’re trying to change. _ ”

Reluctant warmth fills her mind, an acknowledgement of the progress the Master’s made. The TARDIS may not like him, but she knows the Doctor needs him. That’s enough.

Flying a TARDIS is much easier with two people, even when one of them is restricted by yards of heavy and impractical fabric. Ideally, there would be ten pilots, all telepathically connected to the ship, but the Doctor and the Master make it work. They move smoothly around each other in a dance; the Doctor pulls a lever and steps back to let the Master slip past, he presses a button and then takes her place at the monitors as she goes to check something else.

It also makes for a much smoother landing, to the Doctor’s slight annoyance. Now that the Master has evidence that his assistance results in a less turbulent ride, she has a sneaky suspicion that he’s never going to shut up about it. Half of the fun, in her opinion, is trying not to fall over mid-flight.

As the TARDIS settles, the Doctor takes a quick look at the screens. Just as planned, they’ve landed in the statue garden that surrounds the main building of the New London Art Museum, hopefully blending in well enough to go unnoticed by anyone.

“Ready?” the Master asks, holding his arm out to her.

The Doctor smiles and takes it, leading the way out of the TARDIS and into the gardens.

Strings of lights are hung from the beams supporting the glass ceiling above, illuminating the garden despite the darkness outside. They’re almost like constellations, though there seems to be very little rhyme or reason as to their distribution. She mentally connects them into patterns as they walk anyways.

“Dear, lift your skirts up,” the Master says. “Or you’re going to get dirt on them.”

“I like dirt,” she argues. “Nothing wrong with a bit of dirt.”

She picks them up anyways, the heavy layers of fabric bulky in her arms. The only perk to this dress, she thinks, is that the pockets on the inner layers are huge. She’s managed to fit her sonic, her psychic paper, their invitations, a small novel, seven custard creams(when the Master hadn’t been looking), and all the tools necessary for their scheme, and she hadn’t even needed to make the pockets bigger on the inside.

The stairs leading up to the doors of the museum prove to be a bit of a challenge in a dress. The Master helps steady her as they go, resting one hand on her back and pressing reassurance through their bond.

“ _ I hate this, _ ” she thinks pointedly. “ _ I don’t like not being able to move freely. _ ”

“ _ You trust me, right? _ ” the Master asks. There’s enough sincerity hidden behind the question to make her give his hand a squeeze as she replies.

“ _ Of course I do. _ ”

“ _ Then trust me to help you. _ ”

She looks at him, at the way his eyes have gone wide and gentle, and forces herself to relax. It’s one night, and with the Master her, she isn’t alone. Besides, it’s just part of the heist.


	16. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gala time, plus some foreshadowing/angst/Definitely Not Suspicious Art!

As soon as the Doctor enters the museum she hears music, something light and full of strings. The front room is merely an entryway, but even then, the ceiling is high and vaulted. Behind a waist-high counter stands a woman in a green gown that appears loosely Renaissance-inspired, directing people past her into the main room. His arm still linked with the Doctor's, the Master makes his way to the woman.

"May I see your invitations?" she asks in a clipped tone.

After a moment of scrounging through her pockets, the Doctor pulls out two pieces of heavy white cardstock embossed with golden cursive lettering and hands them across the counter.

"Mr. Oakdown and Dr. Lungbarrow, wonderful to have you in attendance," the woman says warmly. "Please, go right ahead."

" _ Interesting choice, dear, _ " the Master notes as they walk through the arched doorway.

" _ I was feeling a little nostalgic, _ " the Doctor replies.

People in colorful dresses and suits swirl across the main room of the museum, shimmering in the bright lights. They hang from the ceiling, shine up from the floor, and cover the bare sections of wall between the paintings. Even the massive staircase leading to the smaller galleries on the upper floor is covered in strings of lights, turning the whole room into a sea of artificial stars.

A small buffet is set up along one wall, beneath an oil painting of a forest set ablaze. On the opposite side is a table of drinks; though the alcohol won't have much of an effect, the Master grabs two flutes of champagne and passes one to the Doctor.

"To blend in," he explains.

"I know!" she hisses. "I've been to human parties before."

Just to prove the point, she tugs her arm free from his and takes a sip of the champagne. Her face scronches reflexively at the taste.

"Not big on alcohol this time," she says.

"You never are," the Master replies, a hint of fondness in his tone.

That isn't entirely true - every few bodies, she'll develop a taste for it again. Her tenth(ish) body had been fond of it, as had her eighth. This time around, though, she doesn't see the appeal.

"I'm thinking that we get a closer look at the bomb," the Doctor says quickly, after a moment.

She's getting antsy, all the people around her coming a little too close to brushing against her. Wearing a dress is uncomfortable enough, and the last thing she needs is unwanted physical contact.

The Master runs one hand soothingly up and down her arm. "Calm down, Doctor. We have all night, and they aren't unveiling it until after the speech."

Right. Arden's speech about the new exhibit will end with the reveal of the star piece, and that won't be happening for another hour. She knows that. Another hour of waiting in a room full of too-bright lights, grating music, and people who  _ keep touching her. _ Even if it’s an accident, it has her on edge.

"One of the other wings, then," she says. Those, at least, should be less crowded.

"Lead the way," he smiles.

Paintings of long dead muses and nobles stare down from the walls of the first gallery that the Doctor could find. A few other guests are there, but they’re further down and not paying attention. The tension in her stomach unwinds slightly.

“Did you see which wing this is?” She trails her fingers along the velvet rope separating the art from the patrons. “Wasn’t exactly looking.”

“18th century art, I believe,” the Master says.

The Doctor hums. “I’ve met Angelica Kauffman, you know. Lovely woman.”

They wander the gallery for a few minutes, barely paying attention to the paintings. Halfway through, though, sandwiched between two portraits of noblewomen, is one that catches the Doctor’s eye. It’s relatively small, the canvas maybe 50 centimeters square, but incredibly detailed. At first glance, it could pass as a scene on Earth, with the clouded blue sky and flat brown earth; when she looks closer, she realizes that the geography is unlike any she’s ever seen before. Standing in the foreground is a child with dark skin and wide eyes, wearing goldenrod robes and staring straight forward, as if looking into the painter’s eyes. The effect is strangely dizzying, like staring into your own eyes in the mirror until it feels like you’re falling.

She searches for a plaque, some sort of explanation for this oddly familiar painting, but finds nothing. It’s as if the piece was simply placed there as an afterthought to fill up empty space. Really, it doesn’t even fit the time period - the style is far too bright and the lines are sharp, more like a photograph.

The Master tightens his grip on the Doctor’s hand and inhales sharply. It’s enough to drag the Doctor’s attention away from the painting to look at him, concerned. His eyes are shut tight, his mouth twisted into a grimace, and his free hand clenched into a fist.

“What’s wrong?” she demands.

“It  _ hurts, _ ” he hisses. “It-" he inhales shakily "- _burns._ ”

She pulls her hand free from his, grabs his face, and yanks him forward so that their foreheads touch. The contact isn’t strictly necessary, but it helps. The Doctor presses her mind deeper into his, searching for the source of the pain.

It doesn’t take long enough to find the pain itself, blazing against his memories like a forest fire, but the source is too well-hidden for her to locate. She’s never been the most skilled at telepathy, and whatever is behind this is far beyond her abilities. But she  _ can _ treat the symptoms.

Blurring the memory is easy, fading the details of the painting in his mind until it’s just another boring piece of canvas and paint on the wall. As the memory fades, so does the pain. Distantly, she can feel the Master wrap his arms around her, sinking further into her touch as she slowly draws back.

“I did the best I could,” she says softly, once their minds are mostly separated again. “I promise, I only touched the one memory.”

“I know,” the Master whispers. “I know you wouldn’t… Thank you.”

She kisses him slowly, and only pulls away when she begins to feel her vision blur from the lack of oxygen. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ve never been a fan of the 18th century anyhow.”

After wasting another half hour in the 21st century art gallery, the Doctor realizes that Arden’s speech is due to start soon. It would be suspicious to miss it, so she reluctantly makes her way back to the far more crowded main hall. By now, most of the guests have separated into small groups, allowing her to slip between them without risking unwanted touch. The Master helps too, keeping a grounding hand on her arm.

On the far end of the hall, in front of a triptych of stained glass windows, is a raised platform with a podium and a small opaque box. A few men in suits - modern and out of place in the sea of pseudo-Renaissance costumes - stand near it, keeping a close eye on anyone who gets too close. Security, though the high-tech defenses in place probably make their job more for intimidation than actual protection of the art.

The Doctor slips just near enough to confirm that the box is the right size to store the bomb, but not enough that security will notice. Sontaran technology, at least of the era that the bomb came from, tended towards compact and simplistic; the bomb would only be half a meter in length. At least it should be easy to carry.

A short man in a golden vest steps up to the podium, taps the mic once, and smiles. "Hello, everyone! For the few of you who don't know me, I'm Richard Arden, the curator of this museum. I am also, as many of you know, quite the  _ ardent _ art lover myself." He chuckles at the pun, and a few of the guests join in. "I've spent the past ten years gathering rare, as-yet undiscovered, pieces from all around the world to display here for everyone to see. Tonight, I'll unveil one of my most prized finds - a fragment of a statue believed to be Mycenaean, dating back potentially to the 14th century BC."

Richard pauses, waiting for the appreciative gasps and exclamations of the crowd, then continues. "I kept it in my own home to ensure that it would be in perfect condition for this occasion. So, without further ado, allow me to present to you…"

He presses a button at the base of the box, allowing the hyperplastic casing to become transparent. It takes a second to clear fully, revealing-

"Oh no," the Doctor mutters. She stares in horror at the empty case as the room erupts into chaos. "Someone already stole it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, you guys get to see the familiar face I alluded to :)


	17. Bombshell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to introduce A Friend :)

"Everyone remain calm!" Arden shouts into the microphone, causing screeching feedback to spill from the speakers. "Nobody leaves this room until security has located the statue. I'm certain that you are all innocent, but somewhere among us is a thief, and they must be found!"

The Doctor's hand finds the Master's, her fingers curling around his. It's the only sign of worry that she allows herself, though; she needs to stay calm. He runs his thumb along the back of her hand and presses an idea to her mind.

" _If we find the thieves first, perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone._ "

She sends back agreement - she had the same idea. Scanning the crowd for anyone too calm or too panicked, her eyes land on a group of four people. They're standing against a wall, near the door to one of the smaller galleries, trying to blend in but not quite managing. The Doctor can see them exchange nervous glances as the guards begin to sweep the room.

“ _Over there, by the door._ ”

“ _They’re not thieves,_ ” he argues. “ _Way too obvious._ ”

The Doctor glances at the small group again. He’s right; nobody that ill-prepared for getting caught would be able to get past the advanced security measures of this museum. The way that they’re looking between each other and the front entrance is practically begging to be noticed. Probably just uninvited guests hoping to avoid being thrown out.

She manages to stay still for another minute and a half before the urge to interfere gets too strong to ignore. “ _We should talk to Arden._ ”

“ _Yes, that won’t be suspicious at all,_ ” the Master thinks, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Yeah, alright, maybe a bit,_ ” she admits. “ _But do you have any better ideas?_ ”

He’s silent for a moment, and then… “ _No._ ”

Smiling and just a little smug, she reaches into a pocket to pull out her psychic paper. A custard cream ends up along for the ride, and she pops it into her mouth as she starts making her way to the podium.

“No, Doctor, come back here!” the Master demands, grabbing her arm. “I saw you eat something. What did you put in your pockets?”

“My sonic, a book, some tools, and a few custard creams.” She grabs another biscuit from her pocket and offers it to him. “Want one?”

His nose wrinkles in disgust. “You’re a menace to society.”

“Is that a no? It’s hard to tell with you.”

“Yes, it’s a no!”

“Fine.” The Doctor shrugs and puts the biscuit back. “Your loss.”

She can hear the Master sigh as they walk toward the raised stage, toward Arden and the guard he’s frantically conversing with just loud enough to be heard.

“Get Baxton, _now,_ ” Arden orders. “Tell her to get up here and explain exactly how her security measures managed to fail!”

The guard nods and turns away, pushing through the crowd towards the front doors at the opposite end of the hall. From the quick glimpse the Doctor gets of his face as he passes, he looks nervous, almost frightened.

She steps up onto the platform, her skirts held in one arm and her psychic paper in the other hand. “Mister Arden?”

“Oh, what now?” the man groans. “Who are you?”

“We’re with the… the New London private investigation agency,” she begins, flashing the paper at Arden. “We’d like to offer some help locating this missing statue.”

“I don’t- I mean, how can you help? It just went missing.” To the Doctor's annoyance, he directs the question more at the Master than her.

“That’s the best time to start looking,” she says, ignoring the way he blinks in confusion when she keeps talking. “Before it can be taken anywhere else. Really, we’re your best hope for finding the piece."

"It would be a tragedy if it were to be lost forever simply because the museum security wasn’t thorough enough," the Master adds, eyes wide and earnest. "I mean no offense, of course, but this simply isn’t their job, is it?”

The Doctor can feel the slightest hint of hypnotism threaded through his words, even though it’s not directed at her. She sends a sharp jab of disapproval to his mind, mostly because she should rather than because she wants to, and gets the impression of rolled eyes in return.

“Well, no, not really,” Arden agrees. “I suppose if you’re willing to provide your services - pro bono, of course-”

“Of course,” the Master nods. “It’s the right thing to do.”

It’s only with remarkable self control that the Doctor refrains from laughing at hearing those words come from his mouth in a tone of such false sincerity.

“- then I have no reason to turn you down!” Arden’s smile drops into a scowl. “Though you’ll have to talk to the head of security first. Her so-called security systems should have stopped this in the first place, but hopefully they can be of some help. I’ve already sent for her, so if you’ll just wait a few moments…”

“ _Baxton, then?_ ” the Doctor suggests, and the Master hums in agreement.

“Is there anyone you can think of who would want to do this?” she asks.

Arden shakes his head. “Nobody knew about the statue except me and the security team. Everyone was sworn to secrecy. If they told _anyone,_ they’d lose their job.”

The Doctor nods, tucking the information away for later.

“And what security measures do you have in place?” she inquires.

“I believe I can help with that,” a smooth voice answers.

Startled, the Doctor turns to see a tall woman with dark skin and short hair, dressed in a simple white blouse and black trousers. Her eyes are sharp, more observant than most humans’, and something about the way that she examines both the Doctor and the Master is strikingly familiar. Cold, calculating, and a bit like they’re specimens in a lab. It sends a shiver down the Doctor’s spine.

“Renée Baxton,” she says. “Head of security. I designed all of the systems used here.”

The Doctor starts to reply, but Arden talks over her. She forces herself to avoid making a face.

“And yet, somehow, someone walked off with the oldest piece of art in this entire building!” Arden snaps. “Explain that to me, Baxton. Can’t you even do your job?”

Renée raises an eyebrow disdainfully. “You insisted that the security measures be lowered so that guests could view the statue up close. Your exact words, I believe, were, ‘make it so that people can actually enjoy the art, I don’t care what that means for security.’”

Arden splutters, going red.

“Now, I’m sure that you are about to insist that I find the person responsible,” Renée continues, sounding remarkably bored. “So if you will excuse me, I will clean up after your childish incompetence, something that is not actually part of my job.”

She turns on her heel and leaves Arden, still flustered and wordless, standing on the stage. After a moment, the Doctor and the Master follow her as she strides through the crowd.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” the Master whispers.

The Doctor knows what he means - the electric feeling of something _else_ that Renée had carried with her, wrapped around her like a cloak. “She’s not human.”

“Not from this time, either, though she’s hiding it,” he says. “Look at her timeline.”

Unfocusing her gaze, the Doctor stretches her temporal senses out. There’s the tangled mess of hers and the Master’s timelines, twining around each other like yarn until they’re nigh inseparable; the straight and unbending lines of the humans that fill most of the room; the heavy, cold weight of the artefacts like a stamp upon reality. Then, buried beneath them all, another time traveller’s timeline, bending and curving and nearly invisible thanks to some sort of cloaking device.

“She almost feels like a Time Lord,” the Doctor mutters. She shakes her head. “But that’s impossible. We would’ve felt it. She was right next to us.”

The Master’s eyes narrow, focused on Renée. The woman doesn’t seem to notice, busy talking with one of the guards near the door to the statue gardens.

“If she can hide her timeline so well that we nearly missed it,” he says, “then maybe she can hide other things, too.”

Renée glances over at them and tilts her head as if considering something. Then she makes a ‘come here’ gesture with one hand. The Doctor glances at the Master, shrugs, and obeys. After all, they still need to talk to her, and it’s much easier if she invites them to do so.

Once they’re close, Renée walks out the back door, not bothering to hold it open. Scrambling to follow her results in the Doctor almost tripping over her own feet, but she manages to stay upright as she steps out into the cool night air.

The moment the door swings closed, Renée steps forward and looms over them, murder in her eyes.

“I don’t know what the pair of you are doing here tonight, but if you’ve stolen that bomb, I will kill both of you slowly and painfully until you will _wish_ that you couldn’t regenerate any more,” she hisses. “Understood?”

“What?” the Doctor asks, reeling slightly. 

Renée sighs and looks at her like she’s an idiot. “A Sontaran bomb going missing on the same night that you two show up? I have spent far too much time around you to think that this is a coincidence.”

“Do we know you?” the Doctor tries, desperately wracking her brains for who this woman could be.

“Yes, we do,” the Master breathes. He sounds somewhere between delighted and terrified. “Hello, Rani.”


	18. The Scientist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall get two chapters this weekend, just because! I am Definitely not procrastinating on my comp sci homework to do this,, ha ha ha

The Doctor gapes. “ _What?_ ”

Hearing it, the pieces click neatly into place. Of course she wouldn’t have been able to sense another Time Lord - the Rani had always been good with the biological side of things. Brilliant, too. Far too smart to be allowed to run loose on Gallifrey once she graduated the Academy, and between her ambition and the incident with the rats and the President's cats(and the President), she’d decided that joining the Doctor and the Master in being renegades was the best course of action. It even explains why the TARDIS couldn’t land in the safe, and why there was such high-tech security at the museum. And yet, the Doctor can’t quite process the sight of her old friend.

The last she’d heard of the Rani, she had been brought back to Gallifrey during the Time War to help biologically engineer weapons for the Time Lords. After the War, when there had been no sign of her anywhere for a thousand years… the Doctor had assumed her to be dead. Even after rediscovering Gallifrey, the Rani seemed to have been gone for good.

“Doctor, I know that you’re slow sometimes, but really?” the Rani sighs. “Yes, I’m not dead, a fact I’m sure delights you. Now, what are you two doing here?”

“Would you believe me if I said we were just enjoying the gala?” the Master offers.

That gets him a disdainful raised eyebrow. “No.”

“Worth a try,” he shrugs.

“We’re here to steal the bomb,” the Doctor says, and immediately holds her hands up to stall the Rani as she reaches into her pocket, probably for a weapon. “But! But, we didn’t take it. No clue who did, actually. Also, what are _you_ doing here? You hate Earth!”

The Rani presses her lips together in a carefully neutral expression. Her eyes flicker ever-so-slightly to the side, the tiniest hint of - embarrassment? Shame? - in them.

“Are you _stuck?_ ” The Master grins. When the Rani stays silent, it grows into a proper smirk. “Oh, you are! You got yourself stuck on Earth, didn’t you? How’d you manage that one?”

“That’s none of your business,” she says, her tone sharp.

“You were going to use the bomb’s transport tech to get off Earth, weren’t you?” the Doctor asks. “Oh, that’s clever! That’s very clever.”

“Yes, I know.” The Rani rolls her eyes. “I came up with it. Why were you going to steal it? Another one of his half-baked schemes doomed to fall apart the minute someone looks at it, or an attempt at some more sanctimonious do-gooding from you, Doctor?”

Both of them start to protest, but the Rani cuts them off.

“Actually, I don’t want to know. Whichever it is, it doesn’t matter, because you’re helping me now.”

Surprised, the Master glances at the Doctor. “Are we?”

“I don’t see why not.” She shrugs her shoulders. “We can work together to find the bomb, then give her a lift to somewhere a little more pleasant.”

The Rani mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Gallifreyan for “Lovestruck fools” under her breath. Louder, she says, “I really wasn’t asking, but your willing cooperation is a bonus. I will go look through the camera footage. You two, see if you can track the bomb’s temporal signature on your ridiculous sonic devices. I’m sure you can manage it without supervision.”

“Using the temporal signature - that’s brilliant!” the Doctor gasps. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

“You’re idiots,” the Rani says, helpfully. “Now, go on, shoo. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be.”

She heads back into the museum without another word, leaving the Doctor and the Master in the statue garden alone.

“It’s nice to see that she hasn’t changed,” he says, after a few moments.

“Not a bit,” she agrees. “You know, I missed her.”

The Master chuckles. “Me too.”

Reading people is not a skill that the Rani has put much effort into, on the whole. There's never been much of a point, when most of the people she deals with are either test subjects or subjects, period. But she's known the Doctor and the Master for a long time, and she can tell where they are in their timelines at a glance.

They don't know. Not yet. She'd suspected, when they hadn't reacted to seeing her in the museum, but their conversation in the garden confirmed it. This is their first time meeting her in this regeneration, and they haven't yet encountered the Cyberium.

Well, she had wondered how they recognized her when they found her on Beltonix VI. Her cloaking device hadn't been on the fritz after all.

She shakes her head, focusing on the security footage for any sign of the thieves. No point in dwelling on the past. As long as she doesn't mention anything about it to them, the timelines will be fine and she'll get her free ride out of here.

A small part of her, buried under centuries of amorality and self-serving ambition, aches for them. She had seen the identical pain in their eyes as plain as day when they'd confronted her. The Master had been furious as he demanded to know if she'd known, but he had also been on the verge of tears. The Doctor had just watched, empty-eyed, as if expecting the answer to be yes.

"Damn it," she mutters, dragging a hand down her face. She let herself get distracted again. At this rate, those two would find the bomb before she did, and that would just be embarrassing.

The erratic beeping of the Doctor’s sonic leads the two Time Lords back to the entrance of the museum, past a pair of guards who merely nod at them and let them through. Stopping in the middle of the room, the Doctor turns in a slow circle until the beeping grows louder and more frequent. Finally, she halts facing the direction of the strongest noise.

“That’s a solid wall,” the Master points out, raising an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. “There’s a storage closet. Didn’t you look at the blueprints you acquired?”

“ _Someone_ insisted that we could just improvise,” he replies. “And I got a little distracted.”

“And it’s a good thing we did!” the Doctor says, walking up to the wall and tapping her knuckles along it in search of a hidden door. “Otherwise the Rani would have probably killed us by now for stealing the bomb from her. Hah!”

Pointing her sonic at the no longer hidden door, she turns to grin at the Master. Despite his annoyed tone mere moments earlier, he’s smiling.

“Come on, let’s see what’s inside.”

The Doctor grabs his hand and tugs him in after her, only to stumble over an unexpected flight of stairs. Her first instinct is to reach for the wall and step back; unused to the dress, however, she overbalances, and soon she’s at the foot of the stairs, groaning.

“A storage closet, hmm?” the Master remarks from above.

Despite the darkness, the Doctor glares at him. After some maneuvering of skirts, she pulls herself to her feet and points her sonic upwards, hoping to turn on a light of some variety. When she does, her breath catches in her throat.

Scrolling through several hours of security footage, from when the bomb had entered the museum six hours before the gala to the very moment Arden unveiled the empty case, is tedious work, and the Rani is excruciatingly bored. So much so that she nearly misses it when there’s a flicker on the screen as the bomb flashes out of visibility.

But notice it she does, and her lips twist into a sharp smile as she finds the four culprits. Humans - or rather, taking the shapes of humans. Using a short range teleport requiring physical contact to activate. There's very few species that have that kind of tech, and only one that would bother stealing a Sontaran bomb - Rutans. Not what she’d expected, but potentially _quite_ fun. If she’s right, as she normally is, then she could have some lovely new specimens on her hands.

She’s already daydreaming about what, precisely, she plans to do with the thieves - thief? It’s so hard to tell with hivemind species - when the door to her office is slammed open rather rudely. She doesn’t even bother to turn around; there’s only two people foolish enough to barge in without knocking, and right now they might as well be joined at the hip.

“Did you know there’s a Rutan spaceship in your storage closet?” the Doctor asks, sounding slightly out of breath. “Well, I say closet. They’ve sort of made themselves a basement and taken the whole thing over. Quite impressive, really. The stairs are really uncomfortable.”

“Strangely enough, I don’t make a habit of checking the storage closet, Doctor,” she sighs. “But yes, I did just discover the identity of the thieves. Four of them, disguised as humans. How they managed to land a ship beneath the museum without drawing my attention…” She shakes her head. “Not that it matters. I’ve been wanting to test a new gaseous poison for months now, and Rutans will be the perfect control species.”

Predictably, the Doctor blanches at the suggestion. “What? No! I’m sure that we can get the bomb without killing anyone.”

Behind her back, the Master rolls his eyes at the Rani in fond annoyance. She raises her eyebrows in reply - at least he had signed up for this. All she wants is to get off of this backwards planet, not to deal with the Doctor’s morals again.

“Look, why don’t we try talking to them?” the Doctor suggests.

“Darling, wasn’t this little adventure initially so that I could have one last bit of fun before we go pick up your humans?” the Master says. The Rani wrinkles her nose at his positively adoring tone. “Just relax for one night. I’m sure we can evacuate the humans first.”

He glances pointedly at the Rani, who sighs. Knowing that those two were back together and actually seeing them in full honeymooning action are two very different things. She’d almost preferred it when they were at each other’s throats instead of each other's lips.

“Yes, fine, we can get rid of the humans first." It's not like she really wants to kill them either way. "You’ll have to keep the Rutans in the basement, though. Good luck with that.”

“Brilliant!" the Doctor grins. "We'll take care of the people downstairs and distract the Rutans, and then you can-”

"Take care of the Rutans," the Master finishes.

The Doctor nods. "Easy peasy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A refresher, for those of you who probably forgot what the Rutans are: they're the other half of the Rutan-Sontaran war, and they've appeared in-show a grand total of Once. It's a Fourth Doctor serial called The Horror Of Fang Rock, and in it they show the ability to shapeshift after studying a member of the species for a while.


	19. Crashing Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday, everyone! Only one chapter left in this arc, and then we have to say goodbye to the Rani(for now, at least...)

Somehow, the gala is so much more fun when there’s aliens to handle. If it weren’t for her bulky skirts, having already proved themselves a tripping hazard, the Doctor would have run back to the main hall. As it is, she walks as quickly as she can, rambling with excitement as she goes and her fingers interlaced with the Master’s.

“We can pull the fire alarm! I’ve never actually gotten to do that before. It always seems like so much fun.” She scronches slightly. “Though I’m not sure how we’re going to keep the Rutans inside after that. They’ll probably follow everyone else when they leave.”

“Well, dear, I have an idea,” the Master says, a certain sharpness settling over his grin. “And you’ll probably like it - it involves sneaking into places you don’t belong and causing problems.”

The Doctor smiles. She likes the sound of that.

When the fire alarm first goes off, Richard prays that he’s hallucinating or something. He’s already had an extremely valuable piece of artwork go missing, the two detectives - if they even are that, which he’s beginning to doubt - have disappeared along with his _useless_ head of security, and he doesn’t think he can take another stress factor. But no, the fire alarm is most certainly going off, and he quickly realizes that he’s going to have to handle this himself.

He grabs his microphone off of the stage and shouts the first thing that comes to mind. “This is a routine drill. Everyone please evacuate through the front doors in an orderly fashion and remain calm!”

There’s a loud crash and thud from beneath the floor of the hall, shaking the walls hard enough to make some of the paintings rattle a little where they hang. Everyone goes silent. A moment later, there’s a second crash, followed by a loud whistling noise and a piercing shriek, like nails down a chalkboard, that undulates up and down in pitch without ending. After a few seconds, a third crash sends a 20th century Pseudo-Impressionist Revival acrylic to meet the cold stone floors with a crunch. Chaos breaks loose for the second time in less than an hour.

In the sudden hustle and bustle of panicking patrons and unprepared security, four people slip, utterly unnoticed, into the hidden storage closet in the entryway.

Down beneath the artwork and the gala and the people, the Master is having the time of his lives. He’s destroying all sorts of important-looking wiring and mechanical structures with reckless abandon, and the Doctor is at his side doing the same. Akin to her expression during their sword fight a few weeks ago, there’s a feral grin on her lips as she points her sonic at a set of screens displaying vital diagnostics about the ship - all flashing purple and yellow warning signs and bleeping urgently. They quickly go dark with a pitchy whine, powering down to black with an air of finality.

She looks gorgeous when she causes chaos, he thinks fondly, illuminated sharply by the flashing backup lights like a work of art herself. Her hair is absolutely ruined, hanging messily down around her face, but if he’s being honest, it looks much better this way. If it weren’t for the fact that they will, sooner or later, have to deal with four very angry Rutans, he would kiss her.

“Later,” she promises, and he realizes that she heard the thought. Well, he can live with later.

The Master turns back to what seems to be a vital component of the engines and directs his own sonic pen at the inner workings, watching with delight as they begin to spark and let off thick smoke. That’s almost certainly a bad thing.

Barely audible over the mechanical wailing of some of the alarms, the half-broken computer announces that the ship is being approached. The Doctor straightens up from where she’d been elbow-deep in the wiring for the ship’s navigation and grabs the Master’s hand.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here before they catch us.”

Together, they slip out of the control room and through the wide corridor. It’s a smaller ship than most - one main hall down the center, with a few rooms branching off. They only make it a few steps down the hall before the door to the ship opens.

Quickly, the Doctor tugs the Master with her into an empty room and slides the door closed. From where he stands, close to her side and their hands still together, he can feel the thrill she gets from the risk of this plan. If they get caught, the Rutans might kill them, and if they don’t get out quick enough, the Rani will probably just release the poison anyways and steal the TARDIS. In short, precisely the sort of situation the Doctor loves. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t, too.

Several sets of footsteps pass by their hiding spot, and the Doctor reaches for the door. Before she can pull it open, the Master catches her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles gently. He meets her eyes.

“ _Your curiosity isn’t worth us getting caught, love,_ ” he points out.

She looks like she’s about to protest, which wouldn’t surprise him in the least, before nodding. The footsteps pass them by, and the Doctor waits a few more seconds before slowly pulling her hand away from his grasp to crack the door open.

“ _It’s clear,_ ” she thinks, which is all the warning the Master gets before she pulls the door all the way open and yanks him out after her.

The urge to laugh as they run down the corridor as fast as their feet will take them is nearly impossible to resist. It’s so reminiscent of their younger days; causing chaos and running away from the consequences hand in hand. Something about the thought makes the Master’s hearts twinge.

As they clear the ship’s door, the Doctor comes to an abrupt stop, nearly making him trip. She bends down slightly, her hand on his shoulder for support, and pulls off one shoe. Its partner quickly follows. Before the Master can even really react, she’s stashed both shoes into the seemingly infinite pockets of her dress and is heading for the stairs.

Those go a bit slower, as the Doctor’s skirts get in the way, but the Rutans don’t seem to have noticed them, so they have the time. Finally, they make it back to the lobby, the Master closing the hidden door tightly behind him.

“Seems like everyone’s gone,” the Doctor remarks. “Let’s get this over with.”

For once, she doesn’t sound reluctant about it, not like she usually does when they do something fun but vaguely immoral. The Master restrains the urge to comment on it, because he just _knows_ that will get her thinking about what she ‘should’ have done instead. He hates it when she does that - hates seeing her delighted grin fall, hates seeing her sad and self-loathing.

How could she think that she doesn't deserve a break, sometimes? How could she think that what she already does isn’t good enough? A lifetime ago, when he had first agreed to try things her way, she had told him that just _trying_ to be good was progress. And she does so much more, _is_ so much more than that. She always has been, ever since-

His train of thought cuts off as a stab of pain hits his mind, lancing through his memories. The same as it had with that painting, though less intense. He must have brushed too close to whatever it was he found in the Matrix again. A small surge of anger throbs through his hearts. That memory block is getting _very_ annoying.

The Doctor takes his hand. “Are you okay? I felt your mind go all… wibbly.”

“‘Wibbly’?” he repeats disdainfully, already pushing the pain down and away. “Is that a technical term, love? Don’t remember that from the Academy.”

“You know what I mean!” she chides. “It felt like you were upset. I got worried.”

She shouldn’t have been able to feel that. He should have kept a better lid on his thoughts. The few times he’s brought up - or, rather, alluded to - the way he sees her, the way he knows that she is _so much more_ than him, it’s only made her sad. So do any mentions of Gallifrey, not that he really blames her for that one. So he doesn’t mention either. It’s better that way.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head. “Just a little lightheaded. Those stairs are really a pain.”

She looks at him, hazel eyes meeting brown, and frowns. “If you’re sure…”

“I am,” he lies. “Come on, if we keep the Rani waiting for too long she might poison us out of spite."

The first thing the Rani says when the Doctor walks into her office, the Master just behind her, is, “You set off the fire alarm? Really?”

“It worked!” the Doctor argues. “The humans are out, the Rutans will be busy for a while trying to fix their ship, and you can release the poison without hurting any innocents.”

She represses a roll of her eyes. Thousands of years since their childhoods, and the Doctor hasn’t changed at hearts. Still so eager to wreak havoc the moment that they get the chance, but never handling the consequences.

“I don’t actually care how you did it, just that it works,” she says flatly. “I want to be out of here as soon as possible. Now, step outside.”

“What?” both of them ask, nearly in unison.

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to let you see my newest potential weapon in action?” She raises her eyebrows. “Step. Outside. Get all that disgusting affection out of your systems before I have to share a TARDIS with you.”

“How do we know you aren’t going to release the poison throughout the whole building and kill us?” the Master asks.

“You don’t.” Well, she hadn’t actually thought of that, but now… No, she won’t. Too much effort, and she would have to deal with a pair of regeneration sick idiots afterwards. “You’ll have to place your bets on my outstanding record of moral behavior and hope for the best.”

Looking like kicked puppies - she really has been on Earth for too long, she’s picking up the figurative language - the pair of them leave her office. The Rani smiles, just a bit. It’s always so nice to be obeyed.

The Doctor isn’t sulking, exactly. Just leaning against the wall outside of the Rani’s office on the upper floor, her arms crossed and staring down at her feet. Maybe pouting a little bit. She hadn’t even _really_ wanted to see the poison, she just doesn’t like that she can’t.

Beside her, the Master is doing much the same; though in his case, it’s probably because he wanted to watch the Rutans die.

After a few seconds of staring down - not even at her feet, really, just at the layers of skirt - she gets bored.

“Where do you want to go first, once I pick my fam up?” she asks.

“As if it’s going to matter, dear,” the Master replies. “Your ship never lands where you want it to.”

Normally, the comment would make the Doctor bristle, but there’s a fondness to his tone that stops her. Maybe the olive branch of finally being allowed to fly the TARDIS has had an impact on him. Or maybe she’s imagining it.

“Just play along, will you?” she says. “Come on, pick someone you want to meet.”

“The Emperor of Brethulan, right before he slaughtered the entire population of one of its moons,” he answers, smirking. It’s unfairly attractive, and deliberately obnoxious. “To give him some advice.”

“You’re awful,” the Doctor grumbles.

“Obviously. So?”

Instead of answering him properly, she turns and kisses him. He makes a startled noise, then gently moves one hand to cradle the back of her head as he kisses her back. After a moment, she pulls back.

“Was it something I said?” he asks, still smirking.

“If you’re just going to be annoying, there’s no point in talking,” she replies, aiming for snarky but hitting closer to breathless. “And Ushas did say to get it out of our systems now.”

His nose wrinkles in exaggerated disgust. “Darling, if you mention her again while we’re snogging, I’m afraid I’m going to have to-”

She kisses him again, just to shut him up before he can finish the threat. He doesn’t seem to mind.


	20. See You Later, Alligator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for emotional conversations in the wardrobe room - part one!

Once the Rutans are dead, there's really no good reason for the Time Lords to stick around. None of them want to deal with Arden again, and the Rani is particularly eager to get going. The Doctor insists on grabbing the bomb before leaving, just to be safe; beyond that, however, they're quick to slip out of the building and back to the TARDIS.

"So, any requests?" the Doctor asks, before adding, "Within reason."

"I want somewhere warm," the Rani says, leaning on the console to look at the monitor. "And quiet. I've had enough of you two for a century or three, and I need to unwind."

The Doctor wants to be offended, but can't find it in herself to protest. The Rani has never been a people person; she's always preferred the company of her experiments to that of the few people who she might concede to be friends.

"Allusine, maybe?" she offers. "Lots of nice lizard-creatures to experiment on."

"Already ruled it once," the Rani replies. "No point in going back again."

"We could just drop you off at a docking planet," the Master suggests.

The flat, utterly unimpressed look that serves as a reply makes it very clear that isn't happening.

"Or not," he says quickly.

"What about Nevra Prime?" The Doctor pulls up the planet in question on the monitor. "I think they have carnivorous plants there, you'd like it. Oh! Did I tell you, I have a rainforest in the TARDIS now? It's got predatory parrots in it. I didn't make them myself, but I am trying to get them to breed with some Rüppell's parrots to get new color morphs. They've got lovely wings."

"Fascinating," the Rani says, in a tone implying the precise opposite. "Yes, I suppose Nevra Prime will work."

Undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm for her own biological experimentations, the Doctor nods and begins typing in the coordinates. She makes sure that it's far enough along to have passable technology for gene splicing and such, because the only thing scarier than the Rani with access to technology is the Rani when she's bored. That's how planets end up under her control, and the Doctor _really_ doesn't want to have to deal with the mad scientist antics that result from that. Once - well, twice - was more than enough.

With the Master's help - the Rani opts out of steering, quote, "A half-broken TARDIS held together by sheer force of will" - the landing on Nevra Prime is a smooth one. Outside the ship lies a vast expanse of greenery, most of which won't hesitate to take a bite out of travelers, and the rest of which is probably hiding something equally hungry. In other words, it's the sort of place the Rani enjoys just a little too much.

She leaves without saying goodbye; it's not as though she's eager to see them again, or that there's any doubt that they'll run into each other eventually.

"Do you get the feeling that we just unleashed something awful on the universe again?" the Doctor asks, staring out the open door at the Rani's retreating figure.

"Not any more than usual, no," the Master says. "I'm sure she'll do just fine."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He hums in vague agreement. "Well, she's always been the smart one. If she's going to try to take over the planet, I'm sure she has a good reason for it."

"You're just saying that because you wish you were as good at ruling planets as she is," the Doctor teases.

"I was never conquering them to _rule_ them," he corrects. "They were incidental at best to the actual plan."

"The plan to get my attention?"

"Of course. What else?"

His answer is unexpectedly honest for the playful tone of their conversation, and it makes the Doctor pause. She takes his hand, tugging it to her chest and meeting his eyes. The position feels - familiar. They've done this before, in a different context, wearing different faces.

"Well, you have it now," she says quietly.

There's a softness in his eyes that sends a shiver down her spine. This body of his is good at that, at looking so achingly adoring that it makes the Doctor want to shy away from the intensity of it. She's not particularly comfortable with emotions this time around, preferring to hide or ignore them, but the Master seems to have a much harder time with that. He's so open, so easy to read when she tries.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I do."

For a second, they stay like that, looking into each other's eyes and clutching hands. The Doctor half expects him to kiss her, and is a little disappointed when he doesn't. Finally, she breaks the silence.

"I want out of this dress."

The non-sequitur startles the Master into laughing, a fond smile on his lips. "Of course you do. Do you want help?"

"No." She pauses, considers how complicated the dress had been to put on, and changes her answer. "Maybe."

"So, yes, then?" he asks, still smiling.

"Okay, fine, yes," she sighs, as if they didn't both know she would have ended up asking regardless.

"We should go to New York," the Doctor says, her head still halfway inside of her shirt as she pulls it on. "Proper New York, not New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York."

"You're one 'new' short there, dear," the Master points out. He hands her coat over to her.

"No, I'm not." She tugs the coat on, and then wiggles a little bit as the fabric settles, just to get a feel for it again. "And it doesn't matter, because we'd be going to the first New York. I'm thinking 1905. It's a good year."

"And this is after you pick up your humans again and have a discussion about the… O situation?" he asks, bitterness seeping into his tone at even having to mention it.

She pulls a face. "Yeah. Not looking forward to that."

"Where did you tell them I was, before? You made an admirable effort to keep m- _him_ a secret."

"I said we'd had an argument," the Doctor admits. "They never asked for details, but Grace told me to talk to you. Told them the basics when I had to, later, but nothing else. We were a little busy."

"Grace told you to talk to me?" the Master echos, sounding a bit surprised.

"Yeah. She said we had probably fought about something petty that one of us overreacted to, and that we were both suffering for it." A small laugh bubbles up from the Doctor's chest. "I kind of hate that she'd be right, if I'd been telling the truth."

"You know, I think she's my favorite of this batch of humans," he says. "Reminds me of you."

"Nah, Grace is too nice," she scoffs. "And too clever."

The Master raises his eyebrows. "You're not?"

"Well, I'm definitely not _nice._ " Shrugging, she continues, "Not really clever, either. I've lived longer than them, so I just know more. S'not the same thing."

"Does it make a difference in the end?"

The wardrobe is huge, and yet when he steps a little bit closer, the whole room seems to narrow down to just the scant space between them. He reaches out and puts one hand on her waist, the touch muffled by layers of fabric but still enough to make her breath catch.

"No," she says softly. "I don't think it does."

"Well, there you go then." With a small amount of pressure, he urges her closer to him until they're nose to nose. In any other circumstance, he'd probably be smirking, but instead he looks into her eyes and gives her a bittersweet smile. "My kind, brilliant Doctor."

"Never said anything about kind," she protests, because this is too much emotional vulnerability for one day, and she doesn't think she can handle it. "Nice and kind are different."

"Oh love, I know you aren't nice," he replies, still too genuine. "But you are certainly far kinder than you should be."

She takes a step back, a little bit incredulous. "Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"What- _yes,_ it's meant to be a compliment!" he splutters.

Her eyebrows climb upward. "Really?"

"Yes! I was trying to have a moment!" the Master complains, all traces of sentimentality gone. "Talk about how you hurt yourself trying to be good and all that, and then you go and _ruin_ it."

"How is that a compliment?" she demands.

"Because I know you worry about it," he says, and _oh no_ the emotions are back. "And it was wonderful to see you cut loose earlier, without tormenting yourself about it. You spend all that time worrying about living up to the image you project, but you're so much more when you stop trying to be _nice_ all the time."

She doesn't want to talk about this. She _really_ doesn't want to talk about this now, when she's exhausted both physically and emotionally.

"Can we have this conversation later?" Her voice wavers a little as she says it. Even asking for that much still feels too vulnerable.

For a moment, he looks like he's about to refuse, and a cruel little part of her prepares to snap back, to prod at the topics she knows he finds sensitive - Gallifrey, O, his fear of her abandoning him - to get him to _stop._ Then he softens, taking her hand in his. "Of course, love."

The Doctor relaxes, and feels guilty for even thinking of taking advantage of his pain like that. That certainly isn't _kind_ of her.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I'm just… tired."

He laughs, a little self-deprecating. "Me too. That painting took a lot out of me."

In the hectic chain of events that had followed Arden's speech, the strange painting had slipped to the back of the Doctor's mind. Now, though, she has questions.

"I wonder what it was about it that caused your," she searches for the right word, "reaction. It must have reminded you of something you found in the Matrix, but…"

"If I knew, I would tell you," the Master sighs. He raises one hand to his temple, fingers pressing into the skin. "It's there, I can feel it on the edge of my mind, but every time I try to reach it it _burns._ "

Just the memory of the pain is enough to make him wince. The Doctor gently pulls his hand down, letting him trace tiny circles on her palm with one finger. He helped ground her at the gala among all those people, and now she's helping to ground him, just the two of them.

"Well, we can worry about it later," she decides. Pursuing the topic now will only hurt both of them. "Come on. I think we both need a little sleep."

She squeezes past him, pressing a quick kiss to his nose as she does, and then drags him after her out of the wardrobe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, more emotions! The next chapter's a bit shorter than usual, and I'm very excited for the next arc, so it's gonna be up tomorrow


	21. Interlude: Changing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotional conversations in the wardrobe room - part two! Lots of emotional conversations, honestly. I have,, Many Thoughts on Thirteen's interactions with her Fam

Talking is difficult. The Doctor's bad at it, this time around; more likely to avoid it with her humans, to use telepathy with the Master, to bury herself in a project to hide from it. But she owes her friends an explanation, at the very least.

So, reluctantly, she calls Yaz to tell her to come to the O'Brien house, and she lands the TARDIS squarely in Graham and Grace's living room, and she tries to pretend like she wouldn't rather be doing anything else.

"How long has it been for you?" Grace asks, once they've gotten past the greetings and reached the awkward silence that lingers afterwards.

"A few weeks," she replies. "Maybe a month. I did only land a week later for you guys, right?"

Part of her hopes that she didn't, so that she can focus on that and not on the elephant in the room. It would hardly be the first time, and the TARDIS can be so fickle, really, and-

"Yeah, just a week," Yaz says, dashing those hopes. "Doctor, really, can you please explain what was up with O? Where is the Master, anyway?"

"He's in the TARDIS." It's still a sore subject for him, and she doesn't blame him for avoiding it. "And I will explain, I promise."

Her fam, all sat on the same couch she'd passed out on when she was still new, watches her as she paces a little bit. They're blessedly quiet, not asking questions or forcing her to talk before she's ready. She takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and sighs. There's no getting out of this now, so she might as well start.

"Our people, the Time Lords, we can hide ourselves as humans in a pinch," she begins. "Using something called a Chameleon Arch. It hides our memories, backs them up and stores them somewhere else until it's safe to turn back. When they work right, at least. That's what happened, but the situation with O was a bit different. A lot different, really."

"What do you mean?" Ryan asks.

"It happened by accident. We were… there was a TARDIS graveyard, and the Master fell into one of them that wasn't quite dead yet."

Graham tilts his head. "A TARDIS graveyard?"

"Yeah, it's a long story," the Doctor says. She doesn't elaborate further. "When the TARDIS realized someone was in it, it activated the Chameleon Arch technology. It didn't have any external storage mechanism, though. There was no backup, just the memories hidden in his brains. I couldn't undo it safely."

She leaves the next part unspoken. 'So I lied to you because that's what I do, because I can't bear to leave him even for you, because I'm a hypocrite,' wouldn't go over well.

"Why didn't you just tell us that?" Yaz demands. "We could've helped!"

"It isn't that simple, Yaz," she snaps. "If the seal wasn't broken right, he could have died, and I…"

She trails off, shoving her hands deep into her pockets and not looking at any of them. Yelling at them is only going to scare them off, and that's the last thing that she wants.

"It's okay, love," Grace says softly. "You did the best you could."

Sweet, wonderful, understanding Grace.

"Yeah," Ryan adds. "But we're supposed to be your friends, and friends help each other with stuff like that. Even if we couldn't have done anything, maybe you would have felt better if you told us."

"I know that he means a lot to you, and that you've known him a lot longer than you've known us, but… don't push us away just because of that. Don't forget that we're here for you, good or bad, Doc." Graham's voice is gentle. "You don't need to suffer alone."

 _But I did,_ she doesn't say. _I couldn't tell you. You would have tried to help, and I would have pushed you away and ruined everything. It was better this way. What's a little of my suffering, in the grand scheme of things?_

"I'm sorry," she says out loud, still not quite meeting their eyes. "Really. I'll try to be better."

And maybe, just a little bit, she means it. She'll try to tell them more, just as long as it won't hurt them. She doesn't think she could bear that, not again. If - _when_ \- they leave, she wants it to be on their terms. Being left on purpose would hurt less than failing more of her friends.

"That's all we ask, Doctor," Grace smiles. "Thank you."

If she were touchier, the Doctor would probably be going in for a hug right now. As it is, she tries an awkward smile, which is about the most that she thinks she can manage right now.

"Anyway! Have you lot ever been to New York in the early nineteen hundreds?" she asks, brightening her tone. "It's wonderful! Come on, into the TARDIS, you can get changed and we can all go. It'll be brilliant!"

She pretends not to see the looks they exchange as she heads back into her ship. They talked, she explained, and now that it's over with they can focus on why they actually travel with her. Like it should be.

For the second time in as many days, the Doctor finds herself in the section of the TARDIS wardrobe mostly dedicated to Earth. Yaz and Grace look through the dresses with interest, while Graham and Ryan sort through the various suits.

The Master looks consideringly at one dress, rubbing at the fabric of the skirt. It's pretty, a nice shade of vibrant green, and the Doctor has no intention of letting the Master get ideas about it.

"I'm not going to wear another dress," she says firmly. "I've had enough of _that_ for a while."

"Wasn't trying to make you, dear," he replies. "Just… remembering. I do miss being Missy at times."

It's easy, sometimes, to - not forget, but ignore - the events of their most recent lives. Drenched in longing and loneliness, even though they were so close to friendship.

"Oh." Her voice is barely above a whisper; whether from the sudden memories choking her throat or to avoid her humans hearing her, she isn't sure. "Right."

His lips quirk up in a wry smile. "You know, sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I'd said yes, back on the ship."

"I still would've regenerated," the Doctor points out. "Maybe I'd have turned out differently. A little more open. I know it all worked out in the end, with the other me and all that, but… I expected to wake up alone, when I died."

" _I did too,_ " the Master thinks, slipping so subtly into telepathy that it takes her a moment to realize he wasn't speaking aloud. " _That was what you said - no hope, no witness, no reward. And I did try for that, Doctor._ "

"Hey, Doc!" Graham calls, breaking the moment between them without even realizing. "I think we're all ready to go."

She blinks, pulling herself from the tangle of memories - begging Missy to stand with her, betrayal, the Master telling her what happened later on Desolation, finally seeing it for herself, _with_ herself - and tugging a smile into place. "Brilliant! I'll get us going, then."


	22. Niagara Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode, Fugitive, and Villa Diodati are in a three-way tie for my favorite episode of season 12, so I'm really enjoying writing this arc! I hope you guys like it too

Buffalo, New York, 1903, is the perfect first trip with everyone back together - despite the fact that the Doctor had been  _ aiming _ for New York City, 1905. It's fascinating and exciting for her humans, without being too risky, and the Master has ample material for snarky commentary to slip over their bond. She gets to play tour guide for the day, leading everyone around and rambling about all sorts of things; the electrical wires running haphazardly across the gaps between buildings, the streetcars trundling past, and of course, Niagara Falls.

"There's all sorts of fascinating rock formations under the water," the Doctor explains, having to shout slightly to be heard over the thundering crash of the water. "I've seen them, they're beautiful. And all this is gone in about fifty thousand years."

"What, really?" Graham asks.

She nods. "Yep! Right now, the falls're eroding a little less than a meter of rock a year, though that slows down a fair bit as they go thanks to you lot trying to stop it. But give 'em enough time, and even that's enough to wear all this down. It just flows right into Lake Erie. Becomes a very popular spot to go white water rafting, actually - we should do that next!"

"That's a bit sad," Yaz says. "That it's just… gone in the future."

"Everything is, eventually," the Master points out. "Either it gets destroyed or destroys itself."

"Gee, thanks," mutters Ryan.

"At least you're seeing it now," the Doctor offers. "Now, come on, I think there's a footpath down here that'll take us to…"

Her voice trails off as she checks her sonic screwdriver. While scanning for signs of foot traffic, it had picked up something else. Some sort of energy signal, far stronger than it should be - even with the Niagara Generator, where the readings seem to be coming from. 

Grace's voice breaks her silence. "Doctor?"

"What?" Her head snaps up. "Sorry, my sonic just picked up some weird readings."

"Normal weird or 'going to end with us running away from something bad' weird?" Graham's tone implies that he already knows which one it is.

"Oi, don't say it like that!" the Doctor protests. "It doesn't always end in running. And I don't know yet. Wanna find out?"

"Can we say no?"

She grins. "Nope! Come on!"

Sure enough, the readings lead to the Niagara Generator, perched on the very edge of the falls. It consists of several buildings looming in the quickly deepening darkness, enclosed by a simple fence. A railroad runs past it, though there aren't any trains in sight. The Doctor pulls out her sonic and scans the air again. Suspiciously high energy readings, just like before, and almost  _ definitely _ alien. Probably dangerous.

"You should probably go back to the TARDIS," she tells her humans. "I don't know what's in there, but it's probably not good."

"It's a bit late for that now," Ryan argues. "Besides, we'll be right with you."

Her nose scronches with doubt, but she knows that he has a point. If they need to make a run for the TARDIS, they might as well do it together.

"Fine," she sighs. "But be very,  _ very _ careful."

The Master's slight surprise at her willingness to let them come along sparks across to her mind, and she returns the memories of her promise to them to do better. He rolls his eyes, but doesn't say - or pointedly think - anything else on the subject.

As a group, they creep up to the fence. One quick sonicking has the gate unlocked and swinging silently open, and the Doctor gestures everyone through. The energy signal is strongest from the building closest to the falls - the generator itself, if she had to guess. There's no locked doors or gates preventing entry there, just an open arch of a doorway into a tall room full of whirring, thrumming generators a level above them. The whole building is dark but for the little moonlight that drips through the high windows above, casting the machines in an eerie glow.

"It's awfully empty," Yaz whispers.

"No point in paying workers for overnight shifts when the place practically runs itself," the Doctor replies, her voice similarly low. "Stay right behind me, and don't touch anything. There must be stairs somewhere 'round here."

With the place practically abandoned, she's a little less cautious. She pokes her head into a variety of rooms, none of which yield stairs or weird energy readings, as well as running her fingers along some of the massive metal machines that rumble soothingly as she walks past.

"Didn't you just say not to touch anything?" Ryan asks.

The Doctor considers the benefits of explaining that she had really just meant that warning for  _ them, _ not her, before reluctantly pulling her hand away from the warm steel. This body in particular has a fondness for machines, and the generator is a work of art that she wants to admire. Perhaps another, less busy, time.

Finally, she comes across a pair of locked doors, which is always a good sign for locating something suspicious. There's a faint clanking sound from behind them, steady like footsteps but heavy and metallic. Her time senses prickle that  _ something _ is on the very edge of causing a serious snag.

"Stay back," she orders, and then promptly sonics the lock and slams the door open.

First, she sees a metal staircase, presumably leading up to the generators, just as she'd thought, and a humanoid figure racing down it. The room itself seems to be a sort of storage place, from the various wooden crates and other storage methods stacked up - and, she notes, two people are cowering behind those very crates, a man and a woman.

"Oh, hi!" she says. "I don't suppose you've seen anything  _ weird _ around here?"

A blast of energy hits the second, closed door, coming close enough to her shoulder that she can feel her skin buzzing. Her first instinct says Silurian energy blaster, but she isn't sure. More important things for her brains to worry about at the moment.

"Ah! I take that as a yes." She ducks and hurries to the pile of crates. "Mind if I join you?"

The man looks - familiar, sort of, like she's seen him in photographs but not in person. Dark hair, kind eyes, and a nice, though simple, suit. His timeline prickles at her senses in a way that means he's probably important, but that's hardly enough for her to discern who he is.

There's another blast, and the figure on the stairs falls to the ground with a cry. The Doctor leaves her hiding place before she even settles in, checking in hopes that maybe she was wrong about the blaster, and maybe the person survived. No such luck; she can tell without even taking a pulse that he's dead.

"It's Mr. Brady!" the woman gasps.

"Why would a potential investor be shooting at us?" the man hisses.

A good question, the Doctor must admit, but… "More urgently, who shot him?"

Again, her answer comes in the form of an energy blast, this one much closer to her head. Not much of an answer, really, but it's a clear sign of what she needs to do next.

"Run!" she shouts, both to the two humans and to her companions. From the pounding of footsteps she hears as she rushes for the door, they listen. She spots a glimpse of a hooded figure on the stairs while she makes sure the two humans follow, but not enough to catch details.

"Who are you?" the man demands.

"Someone with a solution to this problem!"

As soon as all three are out of the storage room, she shoves the door closed again and sonics the lock. Her humans are already halfway down the hall, but the Master is tucked behind a jutting piece of machinery, his sonic pen at the ready. The Doctor grabs his hand and tugs him out of his ambush spot.

" _ I told you to run, _ " she thinks sharply, the impacts of her boots on the hard floor echoing slightly - or maybe it's just the sound of the two humans behind them.

A haze of disdain colors his reply. " _ And leave you alone with whatever was trying to kill you? _ "

That's an argument she does not want to get into right now. As they clear the arch of the building, the Doctor comes to a halt. Her companions are all waiting there, catching their breath, and it's as good a place as any to wait for the other two humans to catch up. In the scant few seconds of her break, the Doctor spots a train coming down the tracks, still a few kilometers away but approaching quickly. An idea begins to form.

"Okay, new plan," she announces. "We're going to get on that train."

All six humans react as one. "What?"

"It's easy!" she insists. "Look, I'll sonic the door open and we'll all get on at once. Whatever that thing chasing you two" - she looks pointedly at the newest arrivals - "is, it's going to have a hard time catching up to us that way."

"What about the TARDIS?" asks Grace.

"She'll be fine." It's not as though anyone else can really pilot the ship, and if the Doctor's right about where the train is headed, they won't be out of range of her telepathic field. "In a pinch, I can probably call her. Come on, no time to waste, gotta get running if we want to catch it!"

Before anyone can really protest, she takes off again, and when she looks back, she sees the humans following her. The train tracks run close to the power plant - for deliveries of parts, most likely - so it's not far before she's standing at the edge, waiting for the train to pass. It doesn't take long for the first few cars to approach.

At her best guess, the train is only going about 65 kilometers per hour, so it shouldn't be too hard to jump on to. Hopefully. Her sonic makes quick work of a door further down, and she takes a deep breath as it rushes closer.

Time seems to slow down slightly as her perception of it speeds up. A neat little Time Lord trick that she rarely uses, but it comes in handy for things like this. Legs bent, hand outstretched, she leaps and tumbles into the car.

A mess of limbs and someone's very sharp elbow land on top of her, which she very quickly squirms out of. A necessary moment of physical contact, sure, but not one she particularly enjoys. She does a quick headcount; Graham, buried underneath Yaz and Ryan, Grace to his left, both new humans to his right, the Master quickly extracting himself and joining her standing further back.

"Everyone away from the door, let me get it shut," she orders.

There's a general sort of groaning, but the humans do their best to listen. The Doctor pulls the door shut and latches it securely, then finally takes a look around the carriage. Wooden crates that, according to their labels, hold various fabrics and yarn, but mostly empty space. Certainly enough to comfortably fit everyone for the next few hours until they reach New York City - or wherever this train is taking them.

No matter where they end up, at least they should be safe for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the whole situation with the train in canon makes no freaking sense. Buffalo and NYC are about 5 hours away going 40 mph(the low end of a steam train's speed, but for a cargo train that's probably reasonable) in a *straight line*. Also. Where did the fam get on beforehand? Why? How did the Doctor know the train was going to NYC? Chibnall I know nobody else cares about this but I Need Answers


	23. Synergy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor makes a new friend, has a very unpleasant train experience, and answers approximately zero questions.

"I should introduce everyone, shouldn't I?" the Doctor says, once the humans are up off the floor. "I'm the Doctor, this is my partner the Master, and this is Grace, Graham, Ryan, and Yaz."

Her humans wave accordingly, and even the Master nods.

"We were doing the sights when I picked up a funny energy reading," she continues. "Thought we'd check it out. Why don't you tell me who you are, and who's shooting at you?"

"Dorothy," the woman replies, extending her hand for a shake. The Doctor takes it briefly. "Dorothy Skerritt."

Stepping forward, the man does the same. "I am Nikola Tesla, and I assure you, I have no idea."

The Doctor pauses mid-handshake as her brains catch up with her ears. It takes a moment, but when they do -

"Tesla," she breathes. "Nikola Tesla. Oh, I  _ knew _ you looked familiar!" She whirls to face her humans, already verging on giddy. "It's only Nikola Tesla!"

Yaz frowns. "Who?"

" _ Total _ genius!" She turns back around, still grinning like a fool. "I've always wanted to meet you." Her smile drops. "Shame you're a big fat liar."

Tesla - her hearts still get a little quick just from the thought - frowns. "Pardon?"

Before she can elaborate, the train car shifts suddenly, making her stumble into the Master, who in turn braces himself against a stack of crates. The door at the end of the car slams open, the same cloaked figure as before standing in the doorway menacingly.

"And we're off again," she sighs.

The next carriage is directly attached, and the humans scramble into it with frantic desperation. By the time the Doctor reaches the door, she's the last one through, and slams it firmly shut. She presses her back against it, throwing her hands wide and planting her feet on the floor, grateful for the grip her boots provide. Heavy fists crash against the other side of the door, as well as a few buzzing pulses of energy that do very little to the solid surface.

"Keep going!" she calls.

Yaz opens the door, and hops easily across to the next carriage. Ryan balks for a moment at the jump, but once he makes it across, most of the humans follow. Soon, the carriage is empty but for the Master and Tesla, neither making any move to leave.

Rather belatedly, the Doctor realizes that it's gone still - no more banging on the door, no more energy pulses, no more rocking of the carriage beyond the rumble of the tracks. Tesla glances nervously around, as though he's hoping someone else has noticed.

"It's quiet," he whispers.

"Why has it gone quiet?" the Doctor mutters.

She's still holding the door shut, though there's a fear creeping up her spine that that might not be where she's needed most. A moment later, she's proven right, as the cloaked figure drops in from the ceiling with a crash.

It points its weapon at her - definitely Silurian, she notices as she prepares to duck behind some crates - and doesn't get any further before the metal trapdoor it entered through is sent slamming down by the Master's sonic. The figure crumples to the floor, strangely silent. Most creatures would have made some noise of pain, but not this one.

"Nice work," the Doctor comments. The Master bends into a small, overly flourished bow.

Tesla seems as stunned as the figure is, his wide-eyed gaze flickering back and forth between her and the Master. She grabs the Silurian blaster off the floor and gestures to the door with her other hand.

"Keep it moving, then!"

That seems to pull him back into reality. Tesla turns and jumps across to the next carriage, and the Master isn't far behind. The Doctor brings up the rear, which is convenient, as the figure doesn't seem to have been greatly affected by having a heavy chunk of metal dropped on its head.

The Doctor turns and faces the figure, one hand on the railing of the car and the other holding up the blaster. She smirks. "Missing something?"

Sparks of red light begin to gather around the figures hand, clearly pooling energy for some sort of attack. Perhaps the blaster was the less dangerous option for it. Whoops.

Setting the blaster down, the Doctor kneels and begins to pull at the pin holding the carriage she's in to the rest of the train. As she yanks at it - the metal too rusty to slide out easily - she hears the familiar sound of the Master's footsteps right behind her. His sonic whines, and she glances up to see the figure fly backwards, the red lightning in its palm grounding itself uselessly against the ceiling of the car.

Her desperate fingers finally pull the pin free, and the two parts of the train soon separate - hers rushing forward, and the figure's slowing down and fading into the distance even as she watches. It's a victory, but it only raises more questions.

"Silurian blaster," the Doctor says, placing the offending weapon down on a crate with a thud. "Nasty, deadly thing. But here's the funny part-"

"That wasn't a Silurian," the Master continues. "It was human, or at least mimicking one."

"So, Nikola Tesla, why is someone chasing you with an alien gun?" she finishes.

"You believe this is alien?" Tesla asks, in a tone that is so blatantly trying to distract her that she's a little insulted.

"It's not, really, but that isn't the point," the Doctor says. "First thing I asked you, I said, have you seen anything weird? And there's one important thing you failed to mention. See, we started off chasing an unusual energy reading, and followed that signal loud and clear to the Niagara Generator. So why-" she pulls out her sonic and scans it along Tesla "-am I still detecting it onboard this train, with you? Whatever it is, hand it over."

Tesla doesn't bother trying to deny it again, which she's grateful for.

"This is one of the most miraculous things I've seen in my life. It's a mystery I intend to solve!" His voice is soft at first, awed, but he quickly gathers himself and tries to be more serious. "And I've no intention of handing it to total strangers."

"Strangers who just saved your life," Yaz points out testily.

Grace lays a calming hand on Yaz's shoulder and looks at Tesla. "Whatever you found is putting you in danger."

"Yeah. Both of you," Ryan nods. He looks at Dorothy. "You alright with that?"

With very little hesitation, the woman straightens her shoulders and moves to stand next to Tesla, her head held high with determination.

"I agree with Mr. Tesla," she says firmly. "If anyone can make sense of this, it's him."

Tesla ducks his head a little in modesty, but doesn't say anything.

"Well then. If you won't hand it over, you leave us no choice." The Doctor leans in, watching both of them closely. "We're not letting you out of our sights until we've worked this out."

They both meet her gaze unwaveringly, and her serious expression melts into an excited grin. She's far too giddy at the thought of spending an extended period of time with Nikola Tesla to play intimidating any longer than she really needs to.

"So! Where's this lab, then?"

"New York City," Tesla replies.

Yaz frowns. "Is that even where we're headed?"

The Doctor's grin falls. She hadn't even considered the possibility that this train might not be bound for New York City, and it's not as though she can really check. "Ah. Good question. Probably? We'll find out in a few hours."

"Just how long does it take to get from Niagara Falls to New York?" Ryan asks with apprehension.   


"At the speed we're going? About six hours, maybe more," the Master answers.

A chorus of groans from her companions fills the carriage. Six hours is barely anything, really, but humans get so annoyed about waiting uncertain lengths of time to go to unclear destinations.

"It'll be fun!" she says, trying to lighten the mood. "We can play road trip games! I think I've got cards in my pockets, too. Somewhere."

Nikola isn't quite sure how to spend his time on this train ride to - hopefully - New York. The Doctor's friends are busy playing some sort of card game, though the cards are oddly colored and the numbers don't appear to be those of a standard deck; occasionally, one of them will call out a word in another language. Spanish, he thinks. He could speak with Dorothy, of course, but after several years of friendship they have very little new to say, and she seems quite interested in the card game. Thus, that leaves his options to be either silence or attempting a conversation with the Doctor and the Master.

Though he has no issue with silence, the pair intrigues him enough that he decides to join them where they stand, leaning against the wall of the carriage. Their hands are linked, he notices, fingers interlaced in a rather  _ close _ manner, and both of them have their eyes closed. Perhaps it would be better for him to leave them be, he thinks - and then the Doctor's eyes snap open.

"Oh! Hello," she says brightly. "Why're you over here, then? Plenty of room in this car. Not that I'm complaining. Just curious. Always curious, me."

Nikola can't quite tell whether her fountains of words are truly as far beyond her control as she acts, or if there's a more calculated purpose to them. It could be either one, quite honestly. But really, it doesn't matter.

"I was just hoping for a little clarification," he says. "Earlier, you called that weapon alien, and then corrected yourself, saying that it was not. Which is it?"

Her eyes light up with excitement. "Well, it's not human, but it's not alien, but it's not supposed to be here yet. The Silurians actually lived on Earth long before you lot did, but went into hibernation to protect themselves from a disaster. But that blaster can't have come from one of their hibernation zones, not yet. They don't start to come back until about seventy, eighty years from now."   


She says all of these wonderful things as if they're commonplace, no different from discussing the weather. And yet, in one sentence, she confirmed that intelligent non-human life exists, and that it lives both among the stars and hidden on Earth. Nikola can't help but be in awe.

"How do you know all of this?" he marvels. "Are you- some sort of travelers in time?"

"Well, I really shouldn't be telling you any of this, but… yeah. Space and time." The Doctor smiles.

The Master opens his eyes, only to roll them towards the ceiling. "You and historical figures. Honestly."

"Like you haven't wanted to meet him too," she replies, fond and teasing all at once.

Their conversation speaks volumes to their relationship - one of equals, one of two people who know each other well enough for sentences to be left half-unspoken and still understood. It makes Nikola a little jealous. He loves Dorothy as he loves his sisters, but they are not on the same path of thought in the way that these two seem to be. Like two independent musical instruments, each functional alone, but creating beautiful synergy when together. He doesn't even find himself annoyed at being relegated to a topic of conversation rather than a participant, simply because the way they speak is, alone, a work of art.

He leans against the stack of crates and watches them, and thinks that perhaps these next few hours will not be so boring as he had anticipated.


	24. Positively Negative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice, long chapter today to make up for only posting one last weekend. Between Whumptober and school, I just didn't think I'd have the time to put out another chapter then... Anyways, enjoy some more of the Doctor fangirling(fan-Time-Lord-ing?) about Tesla!

"Now this is a bit of alright," the Doctor grins, taking a deep breath of the air; it's hardly clean, but after the train ride it's a nice change. She smells smoke and sharp chemicals and the unavoidable musty smell of crowds, all tinged slightly with an ocean breeze from the Atlantic. "Gilded Age New York. This is when the modern world begins. New ideas, new technologies, new skyscrapers-"

"New ways to exploit people," the Master adds, just as cheerful. "Don't forget that one, love."

"I've always wanted to visit New York," Ryan says, ignoring the Master's interjection. "See Times Square."

"Yeah, bit early for that," the Doctor corrects.

"Empire State Building?" Graham tries.

She shakes her head. "Not yet. Though I did see it when it was getting built!"

"Broadway?" Grace suggests, at the same time Yaz says, "Central Park?"

"Yeah! Those've been around for  _ ages. _ "

As she follows Tesla and Dorothy through the broad, crowded streets, a noise she had initially dismissed as the bustle of the city sharpens and becomes more distinct. Shouting, loud and rhythmic, solidifies from a cloud of noise to individual words as Tesla comes to a stop at a street corner. A group of people are gathered in front of the building across the road.

"No to the death current! No AC!"

"Who're they?" asks Ryan.

"Protesters," Dorothy answers with a sigh.

Yaz frowns. "What are they protesting about?"

"Me," says Tesla. He sounds resigned, as though this is a common occurrence. Perhaps it is - the Doctor knows that there's a reason none of her fam had known his name. For all his inventions and good work, Tesla was never the most popular person; too forward thinking to be comfortable.

"There he is!" someone shouts.

The entire mob whirls from facing the building to look at Tesla. He merely sighs, lowers his head, and begins walking across the street, even as people surround him, shouting and accusing.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" one woman demands. "Shame on you!"

A man jabs his finger into Tesla's chest. "He's dangerous! Go back to Mars!"

Tesla flinches away slightly, but doesn't stop.

"How many more people have to die before you admit your machines aren't safe?"

That makes Tesla stop, looking up to face the person responsible for that accusation.

"My inventions never hurt anyone," he argues.

Someone brandishing a notebook steps into his path. "Isn't it true your last invention caused an earthquake?"

"Those were only mild tremors," he corrects, trying to push past the man.

The Doctor does her best to shrink into herself as she slips through the crowd, avoiding touching any of the people pressing in from all sides. In front of her, she sees Grace step on the foot of a particularly irate man, just carefully enough to pass off as a mistake but with enough force to make him wince.

"Foreign lunatic!" another man calls. "You don't belong in America!"

At the top of the stairs, Tesla freezes. After a moment, he whirls around; his eyes are narrowed, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists.

"I am an American citizen! And  _ you _ -" he gestures at the gathered crowd "-are trespassing in front of my lab."

With that, he turns and opens the door, letting it slam against the wall as it swings all the way open. He hurries through, and Dorothy takes a small step after him before stopping, waiting for everyone else.

Inside is a small reception area, the walls painted a nice shade of pale green. On a tall oak desk sits a typewriter, a notepad, a small oil lamp, and a truly impressive stack of envelopes. Tesla stomps up to the desk and begins sorting through the post with vitriol.

"Me, a lunatic?" he mutters, tossing envelopes into a wire basket. "They wouldn't recognize genius if it hit them in the face."

He finishes sorting the letters, only a few still in his hands, and heads for one of the doors. The Doctor steps out of his way.

"Are you alright?" Grace asks gently.

Tesla looks up, startled. "Oh. Absolutely, yeah. Their opinions do not affect me."

The way he slams the door behind him says otherwise, and the Doctor winces. Dorothy tries a placating smile.

"He'll just be a moment," she says, over the sounds of something hitting the wall forcefully. "Why don't you go on through?"

She nods her head towards the third, unopened door. It can only lead to one place.

"Tesla's lab," the Doctor whispers. "This is gonna be something special."

Inventions scattered across worktables, neat organized rows of tools, papers with ideas half-scrawled on them before being tossed aside in favor of just working with the concept in reality - she doesn't know which, if any, of these things to expect when she reverently pushes open the door. Wonders that no other person of this time had even dared to dream of, about to be revealed; the workshop of a man she's admired for  _ centuries. _

The door swings open with a small creak, opening to unveil… a room. A fairly normal room, rugs on the floor and the window shades half-closed against the rising sun, furniture scattered around. No particular sign of, well, anything. A few bits and pieces of what could be inventions, but for the most part, just another room.

"It's certainly less chaotic than your workshop," the Master notes. He tosses a pencil from Dorothy's desk up into the air and catches it again.

"Yeah," the Doctor sighs. "I was kind of expecting more."

She doesn't let her disappointment stop her from looking closer, though. Walking around the room, she looks closer at the odds and ends. There aren't many - the place is surprisingly neat - but there are a few small inventions scattered about. Little gadgets clearly meant to be a test of experiments with wireless power, waiting to be put to use. Idly, she sonics one of them to life and watches a set of tiny lights blip on and off in sequence.

"Cute," the Master remarks. "Useless, but cute."

The Doctor rolls her eyes. "Oh, shush."

Distantly, she hears her fam talking, but she's not really listening until Graham says her name. That makes her look up from the flashing cube, head tilting quizzically. Graham must have said something about Tesla's inventions.

"Yeah?" Yaz says, grinning. "And what did he invent?"

Graham is quiet for a moment. "Well, he invented the. Um. The whatchamacallit. Tell 'em, Doc."

Grace stifles a laugh behind her hand and pats Graham on the shoulder. The Doctor beams, delighted to finally have the time and the excuse to talk about Tesla.

"Nikola Tesla dreams up the twentieth century before it happens," she explains. "Before you have X-rays, Tesla has shadowgraphs. Before you have drones, Tesla has automatons. Before Marconi gets the patent for radio, they have to take it from Tesla, because he invented it first!"

It's easy to slip into the rhythm of lecturing, her hands gesturing excitedly and with very little rhyme or reason as she speaks. She practically skips over to a model of one of Tesla's generators. Her fingers trail over it as she continues to ramble.

"His work on alternating currents helps electrify the  _ world. _ He should've been the first billionaire by now, if he hadn't torn up his contract." Her nose scrunches. "Business isn't his strong point."

Busy looking at the generator, she doesn't notice the door opening until Tesla speaks.

"Doctor, Master?"

She looks up. Tesla reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, silvery orb, holding it out. Glowing green markings wind across the surface in wave-like patterns, undulating and glowing. Even without her sonic, the Doctor can feel energy radiating off of it.

"I believe you wanted to see this."

"Is this what you found in that generator?" she asks, stepping closer to look. "Giving off all that energy… but why?"

Gently, Tesla tosses the orb upward. Instead of falling into the Doctor's hand, it hovers in midair at the apex of its path, spinning slightly.

"You see how it moves independently?" he says. "I believe this is something I like to call, er, remote control."

"That's an orb of Thassor." The Master plucks it out of the air, looking intently at it as the green light pulses. He rolls it from hand to hand, then passes it to the Doctor. "Doesn't belong here at all."

"A what?" Graham asks.

"The Thassor were one of the ancient races," the Doctor explains. "Amazing storytellers, inventors, explorers. They built these orbs as a way to spread information. To send out among the stars, as a way to share their legacy, long after they were gone."

"It was a good move on their part," the Master adds. "They didn't make it through the first Time War. But this isn't exactly valuable technology."

"So, why would someone nearly kill us to get it?" She frowns. "Also, it shouldn't be giving off that much energy. This is all kinds of wrong."

Carefully, she puts it down in a small dish on a table, watching as it rolls around before settling at the bottom. The green light pulses again.

"It could have been hacked," he suggests. "Wouldn't be difficult to do if you had the right tools."

"Ooh, yes!" Grinning, the Doctor pulls out her sonic to scan the orb. When she sees the results, she makes a face. "Well, it's been repurposed, that's for sure. But what for?"

Tesla leans down on the table, looking at both the orb and the Doctor's sonic with awe.

"That instrument detects energy?" he asks, pointing at the sonic as the Doctor gives it a vigorous shake. "Is- is it your own design?"

"I made it!" She raises it proudly. "Mainly out of spoons. The Master has one too. Different casing, same function. Mostly."

Tesla's eyes light up. "You're inventors!"

"I have my moments," she says, as modestly as she can manage while  _ Nikola Tesla _ is looking at her with such excitement. Her hearts are beating a little faster than they should be.

"Not as much as she is, but… you could say that," the Master nods.

"Oh, I knew it!" Tesla beams. "So you- so you can understand how it feels, you know, when you have an idea, and- and to make it real. I don't think there's any greater thrill."

She can feel the Master consider making some snarky comment and press it down. That alone is more effort than he usually bothers with. The Doctor tangles her fingers with his and squeezes.

"I couldn't agree more," she says softly.

"You- you spoke of aliens." Tesla smiles, self-conscious and a little deprecating. "People, you know, laugh at the very idea. But you two, you know so much more, and you share it so willingly. Most people wouldn't."

The Master raises an eyebrow. "But not you."

"Well, apparently I'm not like other people," Tesla says. There's a shortness to his tone that speaks volumes to how often he's been told that. "It can be difficult, you know? To feel no one else sees the world the way you do. It's like you're, er…"

"Out of place," the Doctor nods. She knows the feeling; even with the Master at her side, she can't exactly escape the feeling of otherness when she travels with four humans. They're all wonderful, but they don't really understand. Tesla lacks even that one source of companionship. No childhood best friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend-once-more to confide in and talk to. That, the Doctor remembers the pain of.

"Yeah," he breathes. For a moment, he just stares at them, a faint smile still on his lips. "I- I thought- I thought things would be different. You know, when I first- first arrived in America, I had four cents to my name - I was robbed on the journey - but still, I thought, this is the beginning! Here, I would prosper; my ideas would live!"

"Changing the world takes time," she points out. "You have to be patient."

The Master presses the sensation of rolling his eyes at her, though he doesn't actually do so. Privately, she thinks that he's developing a bit of a soft spot for Tesla.

"I try," Tesla sighs. "But you- you saw them outside. They talk as if I was dangerous, or- or mad."

"Not bad things to be," the Master says. "In my personal experience."

Tesla gives him an odd look, as if unsure how serious he is. The Master flashes a sharp grin, and Tesla smiles tentatively, his cheeks going a little pink. With her own smile, the Doctor squeezes the Master's hand and sends a tendril of gentle teasing. And he'd said that  _ she _ was the one with a thing for historical figures.

The door to the lab creaks open, and the Doctor turns to see Dorothy. Her face is pinched tight in a frown.

"Sir, this was just delivered." She passes an envelope to Tesla. "It's from Mister Morgan."

He takes it, turning it over a few times before opening it. "Excellent. Mister Morgan is the investor behind my Wardenclyffe project. With his help, we…"

His voice trails off, and he purses his lips together for a moment. The paper of the letter wrinkles slightly as his grip on it tightens.

"He's pulling the funding," he announces, voice slightly unsteady. "I, er, can't complete Wardenclyffe without it. I'm never going to be able to prove it works."

A bright, sudden flash of light fills the room, accompanied by the click of a shutter. Peering in from one of the windows is a man carrying a camera. He quickly ducks down, but not before the Doctor manages to sonic him.

"Who's that?" Ryan asks.

"Harold Greene," Dorothy answers, with as much loathing as is possible to fit into three syllables. "One of Edison's men."   


" _ Thomas _ Edison?" Grace says.

Yaz tilts her head. "As in, the lightbulb guy?"

"Edison, Edison, of  _ course _ it's Edison," Tesla mutters. "He's plagued me every step of my career!"

"Edison champions a rival form of current to Mister Tesla's AC," Dorothy explains, at the baffled looks of the Doctor's companions.

"Direct current," he scoffs. "Of course he would champion something so slow and inefficient. That man is a liar and a thief."

"Are we saying Thomas Edison is after the orb of Thassor?" Yaz wonders.

"Don't be daft," Graham says. "How's Edison's men gonna get their hands on a Slimurian laser blaster?"   


"Silurian," the Master corrects, somewhat testily.

"And let's go find out, shall we?" says the Doctor. "You lot, stay here and guard the orb. The Master and I will pay a visit to Mister Thomas Edison."


	25. Direct Current

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one chapter weekend, as the rest of October will probably be. I hope you enjoy!

Tesla gives them directions to Edison's lab, and the Doctor and the Master set off. By now, the chill of the morning has worn off, leaving New York City warm and generally uncomfortable. Which, the Doctor supposes, is its natural state at this point in time; that doesn't make it any more pleasant.

"We should offer to take Nikola on a trip," the Master says idly. Before the Doctor can reply, he continues. "Yes, I know, important historical figure, can't risk breaking the threads of time, et cetera, et cetera. But just the one wouldn't do too much damage."

"It's a bad idea." She swings their linked hands between them. "And we're already pushing it with him as it is."

The Doctor pauses, and the Master raises an eyebrow. "But?"

"But maybe we could manage one trip," she sighs. "We would have to drop my fam off first. After that, though…"

The hypothetical is left hanging as they round the corner of a tall building to see a crowd of people gathered in front of a lab. Unlike the last time they saw a similar scenario, the man standing at the top of the steps is in full control of the crowd, and clearly loving every second of it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man - Thomas Edison, if the Doctor were to guess - says gravely, "AC is the most deadly force known to science. For the public safety, the Niagara Generator should be shut down."

For a second, the Doctor considers being subtle; she decides that that would be boring. She shoots a grin at the Master.

"And let me guess," she calls, pushing her way through the crowd. "An Edison Generator built in its place."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Edison laughs.

"Thomas Edison, we need to talk," she says.

He ignores her. "As I was saying-"

"We could talk here, but I think you'd prefer to go somewhere more private," she interrupts.

"You want to make an appointment, speak to my secretary," Edison says, clearly trying to dismiss her.

"Alien weapons." She tilts her chin up, challenging. "How are you getting your hands on them?"

After a hearty chuckle, Edison scoffs. "Alien weapons? You have the wrong inventor, ma'am. It's Nikola Tesla's been talking to Mars. I keep my feet on the ground."

The Master pulls out the Silurian blaster, in plain sight of the gathered humans. "So I suppose you know nothing about this?"

There's a few cries at the sight of him brandishing the weapon, and the crowd shrinks away. One person screams. Edison pauses.

"Let's take this inside."

Inside is, apparently, a massive warehouse, desks placed every few meters and each one occupied by a man working on some sort of invention. Electric lights - direct current only, the Doctor is sure - hang overhead and give the place a warm glow at odds with the chilly air. Not worth it to keep the heating on, perhaps.

Edison is quick to lead them through, not stopping for a second to acknowledge any of the workers. The door he leads them through is sturdy, dark wood, embellished with a nameplate. As though there could be any other person in the building with such an office.

A single large desk takes up the center of the room, cluttered with papers. Not designs, the Doctor notes, but contracts and miscellaneous legalese. There are a few smaller tables holding globes and stacks of impressive-looking books, as well as a tasimeter. Due to the lack of infrared radiation in the immediate area, the device is purely ornamental.

"Well?" Edison says, after a moment of quiet. "Show me this weapon, then."

The Master sets the blaster on Edison's desk, on top of a layer of papers.

"I have never seen anything like this in my life," the man breathes. "Is this your design? Who has the patent?"

Edison is the type of man to emblazon his name on the walls of his own workshop. Somehow, the Doctor doubts that he wouldn't have somehow tried to lay claim to the blaster if he did know of it. Still, that doesn't answer the question of who  _ was _ using it. And something about his eagerness annoys her.

"This isn't a business opportunity!" she snaps. "Someone tried to shoot us with it, and then we caught an employee of yours spying on Nikola Tesla. Someone's trying to steal from him, and he seems pretty sure it's you."

"Does he now?" Edison takes a seat behind the desk, steepling his fingers and raising his eyebrows. "Ma'am, I may keep an eye on my rivals, but I do not  _ steal. _ I have no need to. There are a thousand patents in the Edison name." He waves his hand around. "You might have seen it on the building."

Condescension drips off his tone, and the Doctor bristles. She doesn't like the way he keeps calling her "ma'am", like it's meant to stand in for something more diminutive. It's infuriating, even though it's been happening to her ever since she regenerated.

"Yes, he does," she says shortly.

"Seems he has a good reason for it," the Master adds. "You did design every Edison invention yourself, didn't you?"   


"He's sore about the past. You know, I gave him a job when he first arrived in the country," Edison replies, dodging the rather pointed question. "On the factory floor. He ended up digging ditches for two bucks a day."

The Doctor glares. "And you had nothing to do with it, I presume."

"He heard me say I'd pay fifty thousand dollars to the man who could fix my generator. He worked on that thing day and night for a year, and he did." Edison smirks. "So I offered him a ten buck raise. He quit and chose to dig. Man just didn't understand the American sense of humor."

Still a little dumbstruck by the sudden turn of events, Nikola stares blankly down at the letter from Morgan. He's read the words a dozen times by now, eyes flitting from one phrase to the next; 'we regret to inform you', 'insufficient progress', 'funding restricted until further notice'. All saccharine wrappings around the bitter core - he just isn't a  _ profitable _ investment. Too busy making real progress to care about money. Again.

When the young woman - Yaz, the Doctor had called her - speaks, it startles him.

"I thought you'd have more stuff," she says, looking at his desk. "Sketches, blueprints, you know. For all your inventions."

Right. He should… he should stop focusing on yet another blockage in his path, and be a gracious host. Where the other three have gone, he isn't sure, but this young woman deserves better than his sulking. The letter is folded up and tucked away.

"All in here," he replies, tapping his temple with one finger. "Before everything else, I build things here."

Yaz sits down across from him, looking at him with a soft smile. "Tell me about this Wardenclyffe project."

Nikola hadn't expected that. Very rarely do people ask to hear about his projects and mean it, but she seems completely sincere.

"Imagine if, wherever you were, you were able to hear music, or the speech of a great leader, or conjure a map of what laid beyond. That's what I proposed with Wardenclyffe." He smiles a little. "All of human knowledge shared freely."

"Now that sounds like the future," Yaz says. Something to her voice makes him think that she is speaking from experience. From what the Doctor and the Master revealed, she probably is.

His faint cheer falls away as he glances down at the folded letter again, bitterness and disappointment seeping in. "Yeah. It will change the world. Why can't anyone else see that?"

"Oh, I can think of some people who do," she replies.

Nikola looks up again in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Yaz says quickly. "Just… thinking out loud."

A strange, resonating sound, like a bell rung against a sheet of metal, cuts off any response Nikola might have had to that. He glances over at the mysterious orb, and sees that it's glowing bright green. After the Doctor had examined it, it had gone quiet and dull, but now it's active again.

The Doctor paces Edison's office restlessly. After his  _ charming _ anecdote about Tesla, she had forced herself to stay calm, pacing instead of doing something rash. Edison is important to history, no matter how distasteful he may be as a person, and she can't mess that up. Even with the Master's imaginative suggestions in her mind providing ideas for the contrary. Very, very tempting ideas.

On a whim, she sonics the wall of the office, then frowns when she looks at the readings. Odd energy signals - not quite the same as the orb had given off, but similar enough to make her suspicious. She nods for the Master to come look, and he pulls out his own to confirm.

"Something's wrong," the Doctor mutters.

"Oh, I should say. We've done this dance for long enough," says Edison. "Now, what have you done with my man, huh?"

Thrown off, the Doctor glances at the Master. He shrugs.

"Don't play dumb!" Edison stands, scowling, and walks up to them. He's taller than either Time Lord, and clearly tries to take advantage of it to loom intimidatingly. It's not particularly effective, and he falters slightly when the Master gives a disdainful look. "He was keeping tabs on that dog and pony show of Tesla's at Niagara. Now he's gone quiet, the very day  _ you _ show up pointing the finger."

Halfway through rolling her eyes, the Doctor's gaze lands on a figure standing in the doorway. If it weren't for the glowing red eyes and the low hissing noise coming from its gaping mouth, she would say that it's human. A slightly familiar human, but she can't quite place the face.

"Behind me!" she orders, grabbing the Master's hand to drag him behind the desk with her and hoping Edison follows. The paradox she would have to clean up if he died would not be worth it.

A quick scan from her sonic confirms that, whatever that thing is, it isn't any more human than the creature that pursued them on the train earlier. Probably an apt way of thinking about it, because she's pretty sure that the red sparks skittering over the creature's skin are much the same as the lightning the other one had wielded.

"Harold?" Edison asks. Right, the man with the camera outside Tesla's lab -  _ that's _ where she'd seen the face before. "What- what's the matter with you?"

"That's not Harold Greene," the Master says. His eyes are bright with curiosity, and only the Doctor's hand on his arm stops him from stepping closer. "But oh, what are you? Not human, definitely not possession…"

"Hologram?" the Doctor suggests, trying another scan. "Could be psionic image cloaking."

Behind her, Edison takes a heavy step backward. "What are you people talking about?"

Both of them ignore him.

"Whatever you are, whatever you've come for, nobody else needs to get hurt." The Doctor raises her hands in a clear sign of harmlessness. Mere seconds after her, the Master mirrors the movement. A lie, but a useful one. "Please. What are you here for?"

The creature that is not Harold Greene snarls and lunges forward. In a split second of synchronicity, the Master grabs the Silurian blaster off of the desk before the creature can grasp it, and the Doctor gives Edison's desk a firm push into its stomach. The force is enough to send it sprawling, and she doesn't waste any time sprinting out of the room.

Out of Edison's office, and straight into the lab full of corpses.


	26. Zinc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of body horror after the first scene break - nothing that doesn't occur in canon, but it's... Gross. Scorpion people are gross.

"Oh, my God," Edison gasps, staring out into the warehouse.

Where workers had stood mere minutes before are instead lifeless bodies on the floor. It's not exactly a leap of logic to conclude that the creature mimicking Harold Greene killed them - the Doctor can feel the faint, electrical energy buzzing in the air. Perhaps that was why it had lunged for the blaster; the red lightning it seemed able to generate hadn't recharged yet.

"No time," she says shortly, glancing around the room in search of  _ something _ to use. They haven't got long until the creature will be back up on its feet, and when it is… Her eyes land on a room labelled 'Chemical Storage', and she begins to get an idea. "This way."

Hand gripping the Master's, she heads for the door. The storage room is well stocked; glass jars of all sorts of compounds, neatly labeled and lined up, as well as several desks piled high with coiled wires and sparkling glassware. And, slumped against one of the desks, another body.

"The real Harold Greene, I presume," the Master remarks. "Definitely dead."

"So it is using a hologram, then," she mutters. "Wonder what it's concealing." Deathly serious, she turns to face Edison. The man's face is pale. "You'd better not be hiding anything. People have  _ died, _ and if I find out that it was because of your greed and your pride…"

" _ My _ workers!" Edison protests. "All those men worked for me. They had families. I had dinner with Harold and his wife last week." That seems to be the thing that really makes it sink in, as he goes slightly green and wide eyed. "I have to tell her, tell the families. Now, give me the gun!"

"I think not," scoffs the Master.

"We don't need to shoot it, we need to contain it," the Doctor explains. "Now, this is your chemical storage, yeah? Ammonium nitrate, some of this green stuff…" She picks up the jar in question, turning it and deciding that it'll do as a catalyst.

"Ooh, feeling pyromaniacal today, love?" A delighted grin darts across the Master's face. "I'll find the zinc."

"Zinc?" Edison echos. "Have you lost your damn mi-" He pauses, remembering what, exactly, ammonium nitrate and zinc do when combined. "Oh."

"Yes,  _ oh, _ " she says absently, already portioning out ammonium nitrate into a large beaker. "Get some matches, would you?"

From the sound of footsteps, he listens. A moment later, the Master is back at her side, passing a large jar of zinc dust right into her waiting hand. The proportions aren't perfect, but the Doctor manages to get enough of the mixture to do some serious damage if needed. Assuming the creature is hurt by such things, of course, but the list of things that  _ aren't _ hurt by such a violent chemical reaction is a short one.

"Care to do the honors?" she asks, passing the nearly-full beaker to the Master. He's always had a steadier hand, of the two of them.

With a sharp smile, he takes it, his hand brushing against hers. She feels a flood of affection from his mind spilling over, made stronger by the brief touch. "You spoil me."

"Containing, not killing," she reminds him. "We need to find out what it's here for."

"Yes, I know."

He spreads the mixture across the floor in a wide circle about two meters from the door, making use of the entire beaker. The lines are heavy, the powder piled thick on top of itself. Plenty of it to ignite when the time comes.

"Behind this desk, come on," the Doctor orders, ducking under one of the desks in the back of the room.

Edison joins them quickly, handing a book of matches to the Doctor without a word. At least for now, the man seems to be too stunned to speak. She doesn't hold out much hope that it'll last once the immediate danger is dealt with.

They aren't waiting long before the creature enters the room, mouth still hanging grotesquely open in a low hiss. It looks around, glowing red eyes shining as pinpricks of light in the gloom, but doesn't seem to spot them. Slowly, it takes another step forward, then another, until it's squarely within the circle, oblivious to the powder beneath it.

The Doctor grabs a match out of the book and strikes it. Even the slight noise of ignition is enough to draw the creature's attention, but she's quicker to react than it is. In one smooth motion, she leans out and sets the powder aflame.

With a rush of air and heat, the chemical reaction jumpstarts and in less than a second, meter-high flames are licking at the air around the creature. It recoils with another hiss- though it's more akin to a scream - the red of its eyes lost in the glow of the fire.

"Plenty more where that came from," she grins, brandishing the matches. "How about we try this again. Who are you?"

The creature gnashes its teeth at her in reply. A tongue of flame laps at the 'suit' it 'wears', and the lack of burning fabric is the final piece of evidence she needs to be sure that, whatever is hiding under that disguise, it's not humanoid.

"What are you, really?" the Master asks.

Slowly, the human face the thing wears begins to melt like wax. Skin oozes down what should be the skeletal structure, though that too seems to be dripping away. Though its mouth is distending and losing all coherent form, the creature continues to hiss. The rest of its body seems to be holding its shape, at least for now.

Dancing against one wall, cast in the light of the fire, is the shadow of a long, scorpion-esque tail, curling inward and ending in a barbed stinger. When she looks back at the creature, there's no such appendage to be found, and yet she still gets the impression of skittering legs as she watches its face slowly droop towards the floor.

"What in God's name?" Edison mutters.

With one final shriek, the creature's face reforms suddenly into a horrific approximation of mandibles. Then, in a flash of light and a spatial shift that makes the Doctor's ears pop, it's gone. Disappeared into thin air, leaving only the bright flames behind.

Yaz had, rather foolishly, assumed that Nikola Tesla would be a little less manic than the Doctor or the Master. His kind, sweet exterior had fooled her into a false sense of security. Which was how she found herself running around his lab, fetching wires and lightbulbs and whatever else was powered by electricity that she could, so that Tesla could hook it all up to the Thassor orb, or whatever it was called.

He had connected the orb to a rather steampunk-looking device, and is muttering something under his breath about power outputs and energy storage. Trailing off from the orb is a veritable forest of wires Yaz had collected, stringing out to lights glowing brightly enough that it's probably visible from outside. Tesla flicks a switch on the box and the lights dim; another switch, and they brighten again.

"What is that?" Yaz asks, awed.

"Power, waiting to be harnessed." Tesla turns away from the generator, grinning. "Your- your Doctor was right. The orb is emitting huge amounts of energy!"

"It's pulsing," she notes. "Like radar."

"Radar?" he repeats.

Whoops. That probably doesn't exist yet, and she  _ definitely _ shouldn't be telling him about it.

"Using energy waves to work out what's around you," Yaz explains. "'S just a theory."

Tesla's eyes go wide. "I've been working on a similar theory myself. I call it my exploring ray." He looks back down at the orb. "But- anyway. The orb is emitting these distinct waves of energy. It's like it's, ah, sensing it's surroundings."

"Or scanning," she mutters. "Which makes me wonder, what's it scanning  _ for? _ "

Her mobile buzzes in her pocket - after an incident that nearly got her sacrificed to an ocean god, twice, Yaz learned to keep the ringer off - and she makes an apologetic face at Tesla before pulling it out. With the others so close, there's really only one person it could be, and the Doctor  _ never _ uses her mobile unless it's an emergency.

"He-" is about as far as she gets into a greeting before she's barreled over by a frantic wave of words.

"Yaz! It's not Edison! I mean, it was, but turns out it's aliens, too," the Doctor says, sounding like she's running while talking. "They can look like anyone, so get everyone else inside and then don't let anyone in! Blockade the door!"

With a nod, despite the fact that the Doctor can't see it, Yaz hangs up and goes to find the others. They'd gone off with Dorothy to have a tour of the rest of the building. Hopefully, they're all okay.

Those hopes are immediately dashed when she gets through the doors and sees Ryan, Grace, Graham, and Dorothy, as well as two red-eyed, snarling men behind them, sparks of red light running up and down their skin. Grace is struggling, until one of the men hisses and the light intensifies.

"I'm sorry," Dorothy whispers.

Right. Hostage situation. She knows how to handle that, both theoretically and in practice, thanks to the Doctor's tendency to get people captured. Keeping everyone alive is more important than holding on to some fancy piece of technology right now.

"We know you want the orb," Yaz says as calmly as she can manage. "Let them go, and you can have it."

"Exactly." Tesla takes a small step forward, then another. His hands are held placatingly in front of him. "You- you don't have to hurt her. With your levels of advancement, you must understand there's no need for violence."

One of the men exhales, raspy and inhuman. " **We did not come for the orb.** "

Yaz frowns, confused.

" **We came for you.** "

The man lunges for Tesla, and Yaz grabs at him a second too late to make a difference. Tesla disappears, along with the two men, and there's nothing Yaz can do to stop it.


	27. Arachnophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guys have missed a certain character, so this chapter's for all of you creepy-crawly fans!

The Doctor is nearly back to Tesla's lab when her mobile starts ringing. She almost doesn't answer, but when she pulls it out of her pocket and sees that it's Yaz - and so soon after warning her about the potential threat - she skids to a stop. Edison nearly runs into her as she does, but she doesn't particularly notice, too busy answering the call.

"They took Tesla," Yaz says by way of greeting. "Not sure where, but they had everyone else hostage and then they took him and disappeared."

"Was there a flash of light and pressure in your ears when they did?" the Doctor asks.

"Yeah, how did you-"

"Short range spatial teleport, just saw it in action not too long ago. Stay put, I'll be right there." She hangs up, then turns to the Master. "We need to get the TARDIS."

"I am not sitting through another six hour train ride," he says flatly.

The Doctor rolls her eyes. "You won't need to. We're still in the close range of her telepathic signal, so I should be able to call her." She scronches. "Hopefully. Haven't tried it before, really, but it _should_ work!"

"Or you might have programmed it wrong, and the whole thing is going to explode and take this section of the universe with it," the Master points out.

"I beg your pardon?" Edison yelps.

"Yes, or that could happen," she admits, making a face. "But I'm pretty sure it'll work, don't worry."

With that, she pulls out her sonic and switches to the newest setting. Despite her outward confidence, her thumb is a little unsteady when she presses down the button. The Master was right; if she messes this up, then a kidnapped Nikola Tesla would soon be the least of her problems. Depending on how badly she messed up, it might be the last of her problems.

For a moment, there's no response as she holds the button, not even the normal whine of the sonic. Then, quietly, just on the edge of her hearing, the sound of the TARDIS materializing, that slow, steady groan. The familiar shape of the police box begins to fade into reality. She tries not to be _too_ relieved.

"Told you it would work," the Doctor smiles. "Come on. Let's grab our friends, then we can find out where Tesla's gone."

The Master's face does something odd, half-frowning before looking at her with curiosity. Rather belatedly, the Doctor realizes her wording - _our_ friends. She's about to apologize, or maybe say something about how they're his friends too, when Edison finally seems to process the sight of a box appearing out of thin air, and promptly ruins the moment.

"That's ingenious!" he exclaims. "What did you use to do this - and do you have the patent?"

Both Time Lords share a roll of their eyes, and the Doctor says, "I stole her, and she's not for sale. Come on."

Normally, she enjoys watching new people react to the inside of the TARDIS. With Edison, she just wants to get it over with as quickly as possible. She pushes open the door, and does her best to ignore his gasp when he steps through after her.

"If you say anything along the lines of 'it's bigger on the inside' or 'who owns the copyright for this', I will be forced to dismember you and feed you to the giant spider that lives here," the Master warns.

"Don't feed him to Georg," the Doctor scolds. "That'll make him sick."

Despite her words, she sends a request to the TARDIS that she move Georg's room closer to the console room, and that the door might just _happen_ to end up open. It's been a while since Georg met new people, and it'll do him good. Terrifying Edison is a mere bonus.

The Master catches the tail end of the thought and smiles, shark-like.

" _You're having an awful lot of fun with this,_ " he thinks.

" _So're you,_ " she replies, and he laughs.

She tugs him over to the controls, an unspoken invitation to pilot with her. It's still new, being able to do that, but it's a novelty she quite enjoys. As much as she likes the chaos of steering alone, there's something comforting about having the Master there to help when she needs to be on the opposite side of the console, pressing two buttons at once. Something about the knowledge that she doesn't have to do it alone.

Georg scuttles into the console room as they're piloting, the distinctive click of his many feet on the floor a sure sign. Edison makes a choking noise, backing as far away from the arachnid as he can. Luckily for him, Georg goes straight to the Master instead, twitching his mandibles politely in his version of begging for treats. When he doesn't get any, due to the unfortunate reality of the Master being too busy piloting, the spider moves to clamber up one of the crystal pillars. They're his favorite spot to perch on, when he's allowed on them.

After the TARDIS settles in Tesla's lab, doors swinging open automatically for the Doctor's companions, the Master steps away from the controls to give Georg a few treats. He'd spent quite a while when Georg first arrived designing a portable temporal stasis chamber just to keep the moths the spider prefers fresh.

Grace is the first one into the TARDIS, and Dorothy comes in last, eyes wide in awe as she looks around.

"It's bigger on the inside!" she gasps.

The Doctor smiles. Unlike Edison, Dorothy seems the type to genuinely appreciate the wonders of the TARDIS. She's the sort of woman the Doctor would consider traveling with, if the TARDIS weren't already full.

Ryan makes a rather startled yelp when he sees Georg - or rather, when Georg sees him. The spider's infatuation with Ryan is still going strong, it seems, because he quickly abandons the promise of more treats from the Master in favor of going after Ryan. The Doctor finds it quite cute, really, though she knows Ryan disagrees. But right now, the spider isn't what she needs to focus on.

"We know they've got cloaking tech," she mutters, kneeling down at the controls to grab some parts out from underneath. "But if I can rig a bypass…"

The Master moves next to her, looking intently at the contraption she's putting together. "Scanning the orb to find out what it's really doing?"

"Yep! Hopefully it'll give us a lead," the Doctor says. She finishes jamming the scanner into place; it's not a perfect job, but for the moment, it'll work. Standing, she looks between her companions. "Who's got the orb?"

Yaz hands it to her, then returns to helping Ryan try to pry Georg off his leg. The endeavor doesn't seem to be going particularly well, as the spider seems very determined not to leave his favorite person.

"Right, on you pop." The Doctor places the orb within the scanner and sets it running. Light sweeps over the orb, analyzing the energy signal more thoroughly than her sonic could do. A moment later, the readings appear on one of the monitors, and she gives a triumphant exclamation. "Of course! That's why they left it behind."

"So it was hacked," the Master notes. "Searching, instead of broadcasting. Pretty clever."

The monitor flickers through a series of images, recordings taken of various places across the world, buildings and people and landscapes, until it finally stops with Tesla's face.

"One of them said they were looking for Tesla," Grace says. "This is how, then?"

"Exactly. They hacked the orb, repurposed it so that they could look for something specific - some _one_ specific." The Doctor purses her lips, rocking back on her heels. "But why? Why would they need the greatest inventor of the time? And who are they, really?"

"Whatever they are, they've got better concealment technology than we can break through without a signal," the Master says.

"A signal, a trail, something to build off of," she mutters. "We just don't have one."

With a frustrated sigh, she begins to pace around the console, trying to think of some way to track down Tesla and his kidnappers without any trace to go off. With its target found, the orb is no longer transmitting, so she can't use that, and short range teleports like the one the thing posing as Harold Greene used are designed to be untraceable. The Master's hand grabs hers as she passes him, and she leans into the reassuring touch. They'll figure something out.

"Mister Tesla did find a trail." Dorothy stands, looking at the monitor, brow furrowed. "The Mars signal. I didn't believe him, not really, but he records all his observations. We have to go to Wardenclyffe."

One moment, Nikola is in his lab, trying to make sure that everyone is safe. The next, his head is spinning and he's standing in a place he doesn't recognize, dim blue lights illuminating the sharp corners and rough edges of the strange objects surrounding him. He whirls around, and finds himself face to face with a strange creature. For a moment, he takes it for a demon, the sort his father and grandfather used to warn of. Horns curve out from its cheeks and head, sharp mandibles glint in the dull light, and yet despite that, its body seems almost like that of a human. Excepting the many narrow, skittering legs that support its lower half as it becomes a strange, horrible tail.

He makes the mistake of glancing upwards, and sees tens, if not hundreds, of scorpion-like creatures on the ceiling staring down at him, jagged maws open and stingers coiled. Reflexively, Nikola steps back, but quickly finds himself with his back to a wall and nowhere else to go.

"Welcome, Nikola Tesla," hisses the first, and most humanoid, monster.

"What is this place?" he gasps.

The monster clicks and its mouth shifts in a twisted smile. "You stand in the throne ship of the Skithra, high above your meagre city."

Beneath Nikola's feet, the floor begins to disappear. With a yelp, he scrambles backwards, and sees through the sudden hole in the floor the buildings of New York City spread out as if on a map. It's deeply disorienting, and makes his stomach clench with fear. If he fell from such a height… his body would be lifeless flesh the moment he hit the ground.

"You can see your city, but your city cannot see us," the monster says. "We have been watching, hidden from human eyes while we _searched._ "

Eager for anything to look at that isn't the terrifying creature or the vertigo-inducing floor beneath him, Nikola glances around the- the throne ship, it had called this place. He spots a very familiar part tucked in amongst the disturbingly slick-looking material that makes up most of the ship.

"This is an electrical condenser," he mutters. "From my generator."

So Edison hadn't been the thief - it had been these bizarre, alien creatures. Briefly, Nikola worries about the Doctor and the Master, and how Edison must have reacted to such accusations, before he remembers exactly how terrifying they had both looked for a brief moment in the train. He's sure that they handled Edison just fine.

"We have gathered supplies," the monster says, skittering closer. "Now you will work."

Nikola frowns, more confused than ever. "Work on what?"

"Our ship. Our weapons." The monster smiles like death itself. "Everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mister Chris Chibnall, why did you make the scorpion lady have Teeth and Human Legs in canon? Why was that something you felt the need to do? Why not just GIVE HER INSECT BIOLOGY LIKE THE REST OF THE SKITHRA MISTER CHIBNALL? I WANT ANSWERS.  
> In all seriousness, I adore this episode but the logistics of some of the parts of it make me want to scream. The Train Situation. How the Doctor got her TARDIS back without another inexplicable train ride. THE SKITHRA QUEEN'S TEETH.


	28. Wardenclyffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we get to the confrontation with the Skithra, and after that... things go in a bit of a different direction than in canon.

"Wow," Ryan breathes, stepping out of the TARDIS. "Now this is a proper lab."

The Doctor can't help but agree. This is what she had expected to see, when she opened the door to Tesla's lab in New York City. Inventions, spare parts, tools, a large pad of drawing paper, all scattered around the room just waiting to be used. An inventor's dream, lit by the large windows letting cloudy daylight filter in.

"Mister Tesla started transferring all of his work to Wardenclyffe months ago," Dorothy explains. She picks up a small telescope. "He intercepted the Mars signal with this. He calls it his Teslascope. Here are all the readings he took."

Long, narrow strips of paper cover the entire table, some rolled up neatly but most just laying wherever there's space. Searching through all of them for one specific set of readings might take a little while.

"They must have increased the cloaking when they realized he'd spotted them," the Doctor mutters.

"Hey!" Dorothy snaps, glaring at Edison. "Don't touch anything."

The Doctor tunes them out, plucking a strip of paper from the desk at random to begin looking through the readings. Most are just typical, baseline radio signals for the time period, but there's a few interesting peaks that catch her eye. Other scientists' experimentations with radio technology, most likely. All except for the massive spike several weeks ago, far more powerful than anything on Earth at the time could have caused.

"Hah!" She grins, holding up the strip. "Signal readout. Now we're in business! Just have to trace it back to the source, rescue Tesla, and stop whatever kidnapped him."

"You make it sound so much easier than it ever is," Graham sighs.

She doesn't reply, heading back into the TARDIS to track the signal. Though she probably won't be able to use the old girl to get there, she can at least get the coordinates.

The Master follows her, leaning against the console as she inputs the data. He doesn't say anything, but his shoulder presses against hers lightly, a small touch that she appreciates nonetheless. After a moment, the monitor lights up, time-space coordinates typing themselves out in neat sequence.

"That's right near New York City," the Doctor says, frowning. "On top of it, really."

"No wonder they needed such strong cloaking," the Master mutters.

"Right, we need something to get there." She straightens, heading for the stairs. "I think I've got a Braxium bouncer somewhere in my toolbox, that should do the trick."

"The recharge time on those is nearly two minutes," he points out.

Her nose scrunches, and she stops at the top of the staircase to face him. "I know, but taking the TARDIS is too risky. It'll be fine."

"Every time you say that, something goes horribly wrong, love."

"Well, maybe this time it won't!" she protests. "You'll be with me."

The Master raises an eyebrow. "You don't want me babysitting?"

Why would she- well, in the past, she has asked him to watch the humans. That was before Gallifrey, though; before they'd been separated and before he  _ left her. _ She'd had to live for months without him, months slowly going mad from the torture of seeing him but knowing that it wasn't  _ him. _ The Doctor doesn't want that happening again, ever.

"Nah," she says lightly. "I might need some help up there with whatever's got Tesla."

"You really are spoiling me," he smiles.

She laughs, then turns and heads for her workshop. Perhaps he's right - their previous trip was, after all, meant for him to enjoy. Even if it got a little out of hand, which she really should have expected, it had still started out as an attempt to lighten his mood. She's seen the way he goes quiet and unnaturally still when he's left alone with his own thoughts for too long, felt him cling to her when they both wake up shivering from nightmares. He needs the distraction of adventure just as much as she does these days.

The Braxium bouncer is easy to find, once the Doctor digs her toolbox out of where it had been buried under what used to be an electric recliner. She tucks the power source and connected bracer into one pocket, right next to her sonic. That should be all she needs.

The corridor back to the console room takes her past the Master's bedroom, and she pauses at the violet door for a moment. Despite his insistence to the contrary, she knows that he kept the reconstructed Tissue Compression Eliminator after they'd taken care of the Dalek. It would be easy to duck in, grab it, and bring it along just in case - after all, she doesn't know what has Tesla, but surely the TCE will make short work of it.

No. She shakes her head. They're going to do this the right way. No weapons, not unless they're necessary.

When she steps back into the console room, still trying not to think about the fact that she even  _ considered _ such a thing, the Master is sitting on the steps. Georg is at his feet, begging shamelessly for treats again. He straightens when he hears her behind him, twisting slightly to face her. By habit, she sits down beside him, taking his hand in hers and patting Georg with the other.

"I got the bouncer," she says. "We just need to input the coordinates and go."

The Master reaches into the Doctor's pocket, taking the battery pack and turning it over in his hands. "Are you sure this is strong enough to transport three people?"

"It'll be fine," she insists, snatching the battery back. "And don't just pull things out of my pockets without asking, it's rude."

"But if I ask first, that's okay?" he asks. There's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that, while it warms the Doctor's hearts to see it, is  _ extremely _ annoying.

She glares at him, no real poison to it. "Depends on my answer. Now come on, let's find Tesla!"

Pulling him up off the stairs by the hand she holds, the Doctor makes for the doors of the TARDIS. Outside, Graham seems to have taken it upon himself to keep an eye on Edison, while the others are talking. All of that comes to a halt when the two Time Lords step out.

"Right!" the Doctor says. "The Master and I are going to take this-" she lifts the bouncer up "-to go get Tesla. We might be a bit, 'cause it's going to need to recharge between jumps, but don't worry about that."

She fiddles with the battery, adjusting the coordinates, then slips the bracer onto her left hand.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Dorothy asks. "We don't know where Mister Tesla is."

"He's about a mile or so above the city," the Master says. "Give or take a dozen feet."

Dorothy's eyes widen, startled.

"And we'll be perfectly fine," the Doctor adds. "We'll be gone five minutes, tops."

Her companions exchange dubious glances that she really doesn't appreciate. But by now, the coordinates are entered and she has no further excuse to keep standing around pretending that she isn't secretly terrified that something's going to go wrong. Taking the Master's hand again, she presses down the button on the battery.

The monster stares down at Nikola, horns casting strange, horrible shadows over its face. It seems to be waiting for his answer to its demand that he repair its technology. Technology he's never seen before, has not the faintest clue of its function, nor ever dealt with anything similar. If he thought he truly had a choice, he would say no. However, there's a nasty feeling curling in his stomach that if he does deny the creature its wishes, he will soon find out what it feels like to die dropped from a very, very high distance onto hard pavement.

"I will need to examine your equipment first," he manages, stalling for time. "To make sure that it is all still in working order."

Mandibles gnashing, the monster replies, "Very well. You will be allowed to inspect the tools provided."

It steps aside, revealing a worktable with fantastical tools unlike anything Nikola has ever used. Hesitantly, he approaches, looking over the strange things. A small few, he notes, are his own equipment, thought lost or stolen.

"Please, I need a little space to work," he says, looking pointedly at how the monster looms over him.

With an unpleasant clicking noise, it backs away enough to lessen the feeling of being observed. Slowly, Nikola looks through the tools, testing out the ones he can guess the function of. Some don't seem to be designed for people with only two hands, while others lack any clear purpose or way to be held. Under another set of circumstances, it's the sort of intellectual puzzle that would delight him. Now, he just worries that whatever he will be requested to work upon shall require such tools, and that his ignorance will be obvious - and potentially deadly.

Somehow, that is the thought that makes him reconsider. He is, more than likely, going to end up dead from this whether he assists these creatures or not. Therefor, he should at the very least die having held to his principles. These beasts have killed people, and he will not help them kill more.

"Is the equipment sufficient?" the monster asks, clattering closer once more.

"Yes, yes, more than sufficient," Nikola nods. "There are more secrets on this ship than I could discover in a lifetime. It is a scientist's dream."

"Then your work shall begin," it says. "You will prepare us for battle."

He takes a deep breath. "No, I won't."

"Your work would burn a path across galaxies," the monster snarls. "On Earth, you are nothing."

That alone stings deeper than any of the scorpion-creatures could; Nikola knows well that his inventions rarely prosper, but hearing it from another  _ hurts. _ Still, it is nothing he hasn't heard before. The sudden lack of funding for his Wardenclyffe project is just another repetition in this endless cycle, and this is no different.

"Perhaps I will achieve nothing," he agrees. "But if I achieve anything, it will be in the name of progress. And you are not my idea of progress."

The monster hisses, baring its sharp, terrible teeth. "Very well." It turns to one of the creatures clinging to the wall. "Begin firing on Earth."


	29. Skithra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another weekend, another chapter! I hope you all enjoy - this one took me a while to get just right.

Spatial bouncers - Braxium-powered or otherwise - are only a few small steps above vortex manipulators, in the Master's opinion, and that's only because they feel less like his timeline is getting pulled to threads and put back together wrong. Their discomfort, intense and unpleasant though it is, is solely physical. Still, the one the Doctor uses does the job of transporting them to the ship hovering above New York well enough.

It's messy, the small room they've landed in cluttered with parts from all different sources jammed together haphazardly. No real lighting, just the faint gleam of whatever indicator lights happen to be on the mismatched parts, blinking erratically.

"Bit of a hoarding problem," he mutters, and the Doctor laughs.

Her hand is tight on his, in a way that would be bordering on painful if it weren't so endearing. He's grown dependent on that comforting tangle of her fingers with his, the casual touches they share. Even though she doesn't need to keep holding his hand as they walk through the dim, red-lit corridor of the ship, she does anyway.

"Oh!" Her half-whispered exclamation makes him stop. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the battery pack for the bouncer still on her hand. "You should hang onto this, just in case."

Just in case of  _ what, _ she doesn't need to say. More than likely, something is going to go wrong, and even now, the fact that she trusts him enough to be sure that he'll help handle it warms his hearts.

He can hear faint noises coming from the direction they're heading, though the voice is so distorted and strange that he can't make out the words. By the time they've reached the end of the hall, though, he can hear the hissing, clicking syllables loud and clear.

"Begin firing on Earth."

The Doctor straightens her shoulders, gives his hand one quick squeeze before letting go, and then steps through the doorway. He stays, just outside of the room, and watches her in action. If -  _ when _ \- she needs his help, he'll have the element of surprise.

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop that," she says casually. She tilts her head up, as if seeing the ship for the first time. "Nice place you've got here. Probably. I mean, if you cleaned up a bit. I mean, I'm messy, but this…"

The Master can't help but grin. He loves it when she toys with the people who make the mistake of annoying her before she strikes. There's something so thrilling about watching her weave that web tighter and tighter around them, while they don't even notice - fooled by her act the whole time. It's positively  _ devious. _

Something hisses and snarls, but she ignores it in favor of looking at Nikola behind her. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I am not harmed," he replies.

She nods, turning to face someone the Master can't see. "I'm the Doctor. I don't believe we've met."

There's poison in her tone, steel underlying the words as she tilts her chin up. A humanoid figure leans just into the Master's view - though the upper body is about as far as that comparison can go. Their head is horned, chitinous protrusions coming out from the cheeks and curling over the forehead, and their posture and thorax implies some sort of tail, though he can't see any. The faint light glints off their skin in ways that makes him think of carapace.

"You address the Queen of the Skithra," the creature says, hissing on the consonants. "And you trespass on my ship."

"Oh." The Doctor tilts her head, a parody of her genuine curiosity. "Is this your ship? Because it looks Venusian to me, and I'm pretty sure that's a Klendov warp drive. Is there a single thing on this ship that you've built yourselves?"

"This one is clever," the queen chuckles. "She will assist Tesla. Or she will die."

By habit, the Master's hand flies to his sonic pen, flicking to one of the far less pleasant settings. He's the only one allowed to threaten the Doctor like that; this so-called queen doesn't deserve the right.

"Stolen tech," the Doctor says softly. "Stolen faces. And now all your stolen gear is breaking down. And what do you do? Steal someone else to fix it." She sneers. "All this killing and looting. Did it never occur to you to try thinking or building something instead?"

The queen laughs, harsh and echoing. "Why would we build, when all there is is ours to take?"

Slowly, the Doctor turns, shooting a glance at the Master as she does. A slight nod of her head, just enough that he can see, and then she's back to pretending that he isn't there.

"Tesla. Why Tesla?" She whirls back to the queen. "Why send the sphere to track him? An inventor from 1900."

Careful to keep his footsteps light, the Master steps through the doorway, sticking to the deep shadows cast by the ship. He can already guess at her plan, can feel the outline of it in the back of his mind, and it depends heavily on him going unnoticed until the cue.

" **We required an engineer,** " hisses one of the creatures disguised as a human.

The queen snarls, leaning forward. The Master was right - despite her humanoid torso, she does have a tail. And, it seems, the ability to harness the same red energy as her subjects. As the one who spoke disintegrates into nothing, the Master is briefly disappointed that the creature in Edison's lab hadn't been able to do the same to the man.

"I was talking!" the queen shouts. She straightens. "We required an engineer. Tesla showed signs of superior intelligence. He discovered our signal."

"And how would you know that?" the Doctor asks.

"He signalled back."

The Doctor turns, looking at Nikola. "You didn't think to mention that?"

While she's facing him, the Doctor slips the brace off her hand and hands it to Nikola, hiding the motion from the queen's sight. He blinks, tilting his head, but seems to take the hint rather quickly.

"I didn't know it worked," he says, sliding the brace onto his hand. Not quite as subtly as would be ideal, but the queen doesn't seem to notice. All of her focus is on the Doctor.

"The Skithra have always taken what we need. And Doctor…" Her tail curls forward again, beginning to glow. Static crackles. "I do not see a need for you."

The Master watches as the Doctor tilts her head up and her shoulders back, lips quirking upward. Sheer confidence and control of the situation, despite the death threat. It's far too attractive. "Oh, you're about to. Now would be a good time, by the way."

She doesn't indicate who she's talking to, but the Master knows what she wants. All Mark III Braxium bouncers come with a very useful option to revert to the set of coordinates that they last traveled from. He presses the button, and Nikola's eyes go wide before he disappears.

The queen screams and lunges at the Doctor, her tail bright with energy. "What did you do? Where have you taken him?"

"Just popped him back down to where he belongs," the Doctor replies, unfazed. "Now, why don't we have a proper chat? Just the three of us."

"There is but one of you," the queen says, fury temporarily overridden by bafflement.

"Sorry, did I not mention?" The Doctor smiles. "I'm not alone."

The Master steps out of the shadows, with the perfect timing for maximum drama. He appreciates that the Doctor was nice enough to give him the opportunity for that; he really doesn't get enough dramatic entrances these days. And, of course, seeing the queen recoil with shock is just a bonus.

"Who are you?" she demands, mandibles clicking erratically.

That's such a perfect lead-in, he really can't resist. It's been far too long since he last got to say it.

"I'm the Master, and you will obey me."

Nikola is, unfortunately, growing rather accustomed to being suddenly and inexplicably transported places against his will. Though, in this case, he's hardly going to complain about being sent away from that strange ship and its terrifying occupants.

He now appears to be at his Wardenclyffe lab, though he's a little too dizzy to really observe much more than that. It's rather hard to miss Dorothy's shout, though.

"Mister Tesla! You're alive!"

She sounds both relieved and shocked, though the former seems to win out. For a moment, she stands in front of him as if wanting to hug him; in the end, she merely beams at him. Nikola feels an answering smile rise. And then he makes the mistake of glancing past Dorothy to see-

"Edison." He tries to keep his tone civil, despite wanting nothing more than to do something painful to the man. "What are you doing here in my lab? This is my private property!"

"That madwoman brought me here," Edison replies, sneering. "Believe me, I have no interest in seeing whatever pointless nonsense you've got here."

"Pointless?" Nikola repeats incredulously. "My inventions serve more of a purpose for all mankind than yours ever will. You are too narrow-minded to see that-"

"Oi!" Graham cuts him off. "Tesla, where's the Doc and the Master?"

"They are still in the ship." It's only when he says it that it really hits him. "They sent me down, but…"

"But they stayed," Grace finishes. "I don't like the thought of those two up there alone."

Nikola frowns. "Surely they can take care of themselves. They seem quite competent."

The four look at each other, reaching an unspoken consensus.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "That's sort of what we're afraid of."


	30. Best-Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally start a little more blatant canon divergence :)  
> Don't worry, everything will be fine

"I am Queen of the Skithra, I obey no one!"

The words come out a growl, and make the dozens of Skithra clustered on the ceiling shift and writhe. Red light sparks off of their carapaces, and beady eyes fix on the pair of Time Lords below hungrily.

Unimpressed, the Master raises an eyebrow. "And just how far has that queendom got you? A broken ship, so desperate for help that you're kidnapping humans, and you don't even have the self-awareness to know that it's in your best interest to listen to us."

"And  _ why, _ " the queen sneers, "should I believe that? You have no way to escape my ship, now. No way to protect Tesla or this infested planet." Saying that seems to make something occur to her. She glances up at the ceiling, up at the teeming throng of creatures. "Go retrieve the engineer."

With the flash and pressurizing  _ pop _ of teleportation, the young Skithra disappear. The Master feels a sharp sliver of fear slice through the Doctor's mind, and he takes her hand. Though he's reluctant to admit it, her companions are more resourceful than she tends to think they are, and Tesla is certainly clever enough to at least outlast the attack.

"Now they shall remove all the unnecessary humans, and Tesla shall be mine." Tilting her head, leaning closer, the queen smiles. "Perhaps I'll bring your little  _ friends _ up and make you watch as they die."

There's no quicker way, in the Master's lengthy experience on the topic of tormenting, trapping, and otherwise antagonizing the Doctor, to make them go from worry to anger than threatening their friends. It's almost endearingly predictable - back in the old days, all he'd need to do to tease out that lovely edge of fury was casually point a weapon, or a Silurian, or a Cyberman, or whatever else was on hand and suitably threatening at the human of the week, and then the Doctor would have no choice but to take him seriously. Of course, that was what he'd  _ wanted, _ more than anything else - their attention.

But the queen… she would have been much better off if she'd just slipped under the radar and left well enough alone. Already, the Master can feel the Doctor plotting, that protective anger bubbling up under the surface.

"You look an awful lot like the Racnoss," she says idly. "What are you, cousins? Sister species?"

That makes the queen freeze, back stiff in surprise.

"They threatened Earth, too. Want to know how that went for them?" As she speaks, the Doctor paces slightly. Her voice stays perfectly, saccharinely polite, but there's an undertone of threat clear as day. "I'll give you a little hint, how about that? Their empress tried to use Earth as a breeding ground for her children. I drowned them all."

The Master remembers that - Christmas, 2006. He'd been Harold Saxon, Minister of Defense, then, freshly married to Lucy, and still stupidly convinced that conquering Earth was going to give him the attention he needed from the Doctor. Certainly, he'd like to think he's grown since then.

Recoiling, the queen hisses. "You're lying!"

"I'm really not," the Doctor says, politeness gone and only simmering fury in its place. "Now, I'm going to make you a deal. The two of us, we're quite clever, and we know our way around spaceship tech. You can bring those scouts back, and we can fix your ship and send you off on your way, and maybe you can try to make something of yourselves for once."

"Or you can keep going the way you are, and we can find some equally clever way to kill you and all of your subjects," the Master finishes, grinning. "We're also very good at that."

He can already tell that the queen isn't going to take the offer. Too proud, too convinced of her own power, and just scared enough to make a stupid, risky decision instead of the smart one. But the Doctor has her rituals, offering mercy even though she knows it will be refused, and going along with that is a small price to pay. It makes her feel better, which the Master is quite in favor of.

"I could just kill you both and take what is mine." The queen raises her tail, energy gathering and glowing, crackling in the air.

The Doctor sighs. "Yeah, I thought you might say that. Was  _ really _ hoping you wouldn't, though."

"And why is that?" Harsh laughter accompanies the words. "Do you really think you can kill me?"

"Oh, I don't doubt that I can," she says. "But I did think you were smarter than that. Certainly thought you were too smart to let me get near your transmitting equipment, but clearly I was wrong 'bout that."

In a smooth movement, the Doctor points her sonic at one of the dim, dusty screens that lines one wall. It lights up, and the sounds of familiar human voices begin to trickle through into the ship. The queen snarls and lunges at the Doctor, but she darts out of the way.

"Fam! Tesla! Can you hear me?" she calls. "Barricade Wardenclyffe and keep Tesla safe!"

"Doctor?" Yaz shouts, voice tinny through the broken-down speaker. "What's going on?"

A grating, electrical whine fills the air, static rising as the queen regathers the energy. The Master's hand slips into his pocket, pulling his sonic out and aiming at her head. He's not sure how well the weaponized settings will handle an exoskeleton, but he's got half a dozen to try. At the very least, it will draw her attention away from the Doctor for a moment.

The sonic blast hits the queen's cheek with an painfully high-pitched noise, and she whirls around to face him. Red light still glowing in her tail, she steps closer in a clatter of legs. He doesn't react, beyond raising an eyebrow and flicking his sonic onto the next setting.

"You  _ dare _ attack royalty?" she demands, indignant.

"Oh, regularly," he replies. Then he pushes the button on his sonic again, and discovers what effect the short-range electric blast has on Skithra.

With a shriek of stiff chitin on stone, the queen's legs collapse outward under her, sending her to the floor. The glow and static of energy around her tail fades quickly, shorted out temporarily by the blast. Grinning, the Master steps lightly past her, towards where the Doctor stands at the control panel for the ship.

She glances up, clearly finished warning the humans, and then over at the still immobile queen with an exaggerated wince and scronch. "Ooh, nervous system disruption? That's gotta hurt."

"I'm sure it does," he agrees. "Something her size, it won't be deadly, but it does take that annoying energy blast out of commission. Not too bad, given what I had to work with."

The Doctor rolls her eyes fondly at his bragging, but doesn't disagree. She turns back to the controls with a considering glint in her eyes that spells trouble. The Master props his chin on her shoulder to look as well, though there's more than enough space that it's not  _ strictly _ necessary. Her hair tickles his cheek as she plots.

"If we had more time, we could rig this to self-destruct once it left Earth's atmosphere," she says. "But we don't have that kind of time. Or any way off of here once we did. And the debris would probably still be visible, and that would be… bad." With an annoyed groan, she runs a hand down her face. "We need a better plan."

"I've got a plan," says Yaz, from the top of the stairs in the console room. "The Doctor said that we need to barricade Wardenclyffe so those scorpion things-"

"The Skithra," Ryan adds helpfully.

She nods. "Yeah, them. So that they can't get in and take Tesla. But if they can't get Tesla, then what's stopping them from just attacking everyone else until he agrees to come out?"

Tesla goes pale at that, eyes wide. Yaz feels more than a little bad for him - it's clear that he doesn't want anyone getting hurt on his behalf. His cooperation with the Skithra earlier for everyone's safety had made that much obvious. But now, he really doesn't have any choice. If he goes with the Skithra, then he'll be forced to make weapons for them; if he stays, then they might kill innocent people.

"I was thinking, though, they don't seem too smart," Yaz continues. "So we could probably trick them."

Glancing at everyone to gauge their reactions, she sees her friends nodding, and even Dorothy and Tesla look cautiously agreeable. Edison seems thoroughly unconvinced, but Yaz doesn't care too much about him. As long as he stays out of the way and doesn't touch anything, she'll be happy.

"So what's this plan, then?" Grace asks.

"If we can lure them here and keep them busy trying to get in the lab, just until the Doctor gets back, they might stay here, instead of going after people in the city," she says.

Graham frowns. "Shouldn't we warn them, just in case? I don't know about you, but  _ I'd _ certainly like a heads up before a bunch of scorpions were all over the place."

"Someone could use the tunnels," Tesla suggests.

"Tunnels?" Edison repeats, sounding somewhat accusatory. "What tunnels?"

"They connect Wardenclyffe to Shoreham," explains Tesla. "I did not build them, I merely discovered them."

Edison still looks suspicious, but the answer satisfies him for now. Yaz takes advantage of the pause to continue.

"Right, so a few of us can go warn people, and everyone else can stay here," she says. "Why don't Edison, me, and Graham go?"

She'd like to say that she picked mostly at random, but she deliberately chose Edison just so that he wouldn't be getting in the way at the lab. Neither man seems exactly overjoyed, but aside from a resigned sigh from Graham, they don't protest.

"Be careful, Yaz," Ryan warns. "If you get eaten by a scorpion monster, Kira'll kill me."

That makes her pause. She'd gotten so caught up in the thrill of planning, of being the one to save people, that she'd almost been able to ignore how risky the plan is. Throwing herself at scorpion aliens as bait, though fairly par for the course with the Doctor, is the sort of thing that could easily get her killed. It's sometimes easy to forget that she has people who actually care about that, about  _ her. _

"I will," she promises. "You be careful too, okay? If they get here before we get back, call me."

"Deal." Ryan nods, then smiles. "Go save some people, yeah?"

Yaz grins. "Yeah."


	31. Competency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's been having a great Halloween! Enjoy your candy, costumes, and today's only somewhat spooky chapter.  
> Also, if you're interested in some whump, I did this year's Whumptober challenge - it's titled Bloodied, and you can find it on my page pretty easily!

The people of Shoreham, New York are not, as Yaz finds out, particularly inclined to listen when she tells them to all get inside. She's been shouting for several minutes now, begging them to just go home and get out of the streets, to very little avail. Graham has had about as much luck. Edison, though, seems to be making quite the headway.

"That fool Tesla is experimenting with dangerous, loose AC!" he calls, looking down at a newspaper he'd grabbed off a table as if reading it. "We're as good as fried if we stay outside! Spread the word - no one is safe!"

Yaz hates that  _ that _ is what gets people panicking and running for the doorways of whatever buildings happen to be nearest, but it doesn't happen a moment too soon. Even as people scatter, shouting about the danger, several flashes of red light herald the arrival of the Skithra. Only some of them are bothering with human disguise, and many, many more are just horrible, skittering beasts.

Tesla had described them as scorpion-like, though that's almost an understatement. They're more like if a normal scorpion had been stretched, pulled, bent out of shape, and then molded back into the rough form of a scorpion. The legs move strangely, their glowing red eyes aren't the right size for their faces and the gaping, mandibled mouths that split them, gaping open into darkness and  _ teeth _ , and-

"Yaz! Stop staring and  _ run! _ " Graham hisses, pulling her by the arm along after him.

She snaps out of the horrified trance she'd gotten stuck in - too stunned by the strangeness of the creatures - and takes off down the street. The tunnels to Wardenclyffe, or at least the one that they'd used to get here, are just a few streets away. Already, Edison is running for it.

Unfortunately, Yaz isn't that lucky.

With a terrible clatter of too many legs, three Skithra careen towards her. At least, she thinks it's only three, by the hasty glance over her shoulder, but it could easily be more. Not like it'll matter much, if they actually catch her.

Turning a corner sharply, Yaz hears the scrape of legs on cobbles, and looks back over her shoulder to see the Skithra bumping into each other, nearly toppling over. But it doesn't take them long to right themselves, and she quickly starts sprinting down the street again. Graham is right in front of her, so she follows him around another bend, hoping he's going the right way.

An ear-rending screech bounces off the buildings, and Yaz nearly trips when she sees a Skithra drop from atop a building, right in front of Graham. It hisses, barbed tail curling upward as if about to strike. Graham scrambles backwards, but the Skithra following them are catching up now that they've stopped running, and behind is no safer than forward.

"Get down!" she hears Edison shout, and without thinking, Yaz yanks Graham down onto the road. A moment later, a gunshot rings out, and the Skithra in front of them disappears in a flash of red. And then, as always, it's back to running for their lives.

"Where'd you get that?" Yaz demands, as she catches up to Edison and his unexpected firearm.

"Just be grateful I did," comes the non-answer.

One more right-angle corner, and then they're back where the tunnel is. Towering brownstone buildings frame the narrow alleyway, and somewhere, tucked against one wall, is a metal door. Yaz searches for it, frantic, and yanks it open as soon as she spots it. Unsurprisingly, Edison is the first one inside, then Graham. She means to follow right behind him, but can't help a bit of morbid curiosity as the Skithra skid around the bend, crashing into each other again.

Graham is calling her name again, and she shakes her head, ducking into the tunnel and slamming the door shut behind her, locking it from the inside. They've done as much as they can to warn people, and now they need to get back to Wardenclyffe.

The lab is not crowded, not really. Four people, himself included, hardly makes for a crowd, Nikola knows. But when he is used to the lab being empty save for himself, and everything is overwhelming, and he hasn't had a true minute of peace since on the train ride to New York City, it certainly feels as though the entire population of Earth has taken residence in the single room.

They've worked together to barricade windows and doors, pulling tables and large pieces of metal in front of any potential point of entry. Dorothy had even helped Ryan and Grace look through old inventions in search of weapons to use in defense of the place. And yet, through it all, Nikola has felt rather useless. His brain is simply too full to be of any help, and he needs… space. He needs a moment of silence and peace, and the sounds of wood being hammered across a window frame are not particularly conducive to that.

So, as Grace tests out a dusty prototype for a death ray - a childish fantasy from years before, finally perhaps made useful - Nikola retreats inside the large blue box now in the middle of the lab. When the Doctor had made contact using the orb, following Tesla's rather abrupt change in location, he had seen the dimensionally transcendental interior, and found it  _ fascinating. _ He hopes that it will help settle his mind, to focus on the mysteries of such a thing's construction, rather than on the fear plaguing his mind.

As he enters, the light emitting from the crystal pillars becomes warm and golden, casting the room in a comforting glow. Gently, Nikola rests his hands on what he believes to be the control panel that makes up the centerpiece of the room. Though it looks like metal, it quickly warms to match the heat of his skin - far faster than any metal, no matter how conductive, that he's ever encountered before. He can feel a faint buzzing beneath his palms, almost like the beating of a great heart.

"I sincerely hope that I do not have to make the choice between my life and the fate of the world," he sighs, speaking to the empty room. This is not quite as effective a distraction as he had hoped. "I don't wish to die, but I couldn't live with myself if…"

He trails off, not quite able to say it aloud. In front of him, the crystal pillar pulses, and a soothing hum fills the air. It's almost as if-

"You're alive, aren't you?" he breathes, letting himself get caught up in the wonder of it. "This is your way of communicating."

Another deepening of color, and a higher-pitched, positive hum.

Nikola smiles. "A living ship! How marvellous. I should ask before I take a look around your mechanisms, then, I suppose."

The ascending succession of violin notes that ring through the air seem to be permission enough. An odd way of communicating, but it feels less ambiguous than some conversations he's endured. Careful not to disturb anything, Nikola kneels on the smooth floor and looks underneath the control panels. This, he hopes, will be enough to occupy him.

As the Skithra queen lays on the ground, incapacitated by another blast from the Master's sonic, the Doctor paces. Between the two of them, they've gone through a dozen plans, but still haven't found any that are quite right. Too obvious, too time-consuming, requires parts they don't have; the list of problems goes on and on.

"I don't know what to do," she groans, settling her forehead on his shoulder with a sigh.

The Master wraps an arm around her, pulling her into a proper hug. It barely lasts a few seconds before she's pacing again, but he can feel the warmth of her appreciation in his mind, even overshadowed by frustration. "Humans can't notice, the ship doesn't have the juice to go much further than orbit, blowing it up won't work because we still need to get off of here…"

There's a hissing, and the Master briefly stops looking at the Doctor to blast the queen again. Unfortunately, the electric pulse only keeps her down for a minute, and she's annoyingly determined to stop them from destroying her ship and her subjects, and seems quite intent on killing them. Not that it'll work, but it does mean that he has to periodically re-stun her.

"Darling, you could just call the TARDIS up here and solve at least one of those problems," he points out.

She stops mid-step, turning to face him and beaming. "You're brilliant! Yes! Oh, that'll make this so much easier."

A smile that could be called fond - adoring, even - quirks his lip upward. The Doctor is brilliant, the Master would never try to argue the opposite, but sometimes her brains run faster than her common sense. Not that he could be counted innocent of the same. They balance each other like this.

He's almost about to say something, or at least send a push of the warmth in his hearts to her mind, when she presses a quick, unexpected kiss to his lips. Then she's fumbling her sonic screwdriver out of a bottomless pocket, as enigmatic and abrupt as always. He may balance her, and he may know her better than he knows himself most days, but she still baffles him at times.

Her sonic is in her hand, thumb on the button, when she pauses and groans. "But we still don't know what to do once I bring her up here."

Ah. Well, yes, that does rather pose a problem. He hadn't even considered that, honestly. They're both odd about planning, this time around; capable of constructing elaborate manipulations, but rarely bothering with contingencies. Improvisation is so much more fun.

"We're right above the Atlantic Ocean," the Master says, after a moment's consideration. "If we go down slowly a few hundred kilometers eastward, there won't even be noticeable waves."

"You," the Doctor announces, "are full of good ideas today."

"Aren't I always, dear?"

Her nose scronches, but he can tell it's sarcastic. As if the impression of a teasing grin in the back of his mind wasn't enough of a hint, her facetious expression falls away quickly in favor of a soft smile.

Now with the rough outline of a plan, the Doctor outstretches her screwdriver again and calls her TARDIS. As she does, the Master turns to the controls, after blasting the queen again. First, they need to summon the Skithra back. Their teleport technology is, like everything else aboard this ship, not native, but this works to his advantage. Most mass-produced short-range teleports of the era the Skithra's belong to look roughly the same, and it's not hard to find the recall button on the mismatched panels.

The distinctive wheeze of the Doctor's TARDIS - is she their TARDIS, now, technically? The old thing may not be psychically bound to him, but she certainly gets her point across - fills the air, and the blocky shape soon materializes in one corner of the room. There's a bit of a petulant tone to it, as if annoyed at such a rude summoning twice in one trip, and the Master isn't quite sure when he started being able to distinguish the TARDIS' tones. Not that it matters at the moment; what's more important is figuring out how to go about materializing several dozen angry Skithra without getting himself or the Doctor killed. Should be simple.


	32. Alien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many of you guys are also American, but if you're reading this the day - or even the week - that I post this, then please, please do your best to stay safe and take care of yourselves. This is, quite frankly, a terrifying time, but I hope I can help distract you for at least a little bit.

Yaz's mobile goes off as she's traversing the tunnel back to Wardenclyffe, and for a moment she almost hopes it's the Doctor again. Then she sees Ryan's name in her phone, and she realizes that that's even more urgent. She signals for Graham and Edison to stop, and answers the call.

"Ryan? You okay?" she asks. "Have they got in?"

"Nah, they aren't even here yet," he says. "But the TARDIS just disappeared, and Tesla was in it."

"Disappeared how? Like normal, or something different?"

Graham frowns, and Yaz mouths, "Explain in a sec," as Ryan answers.

"Like normal, with the wheezing noise and stuff."

She doesn't really know what to do with that. Not like any other answer would have changed that, she supposes. The TARDIS, while amazing, has never been something she's bothered to learn the exact workings of. The Doctor hits buttons, the Master makes annoying commentary, and somehow they end up roughly where they want to be, give or take a few years. She isn't even sure how the Doctor got the TARDIS back - last she knew, it had been in Buffalo. Though… the Doctor had mentioned something about calling the ship.

"Maybe the Doctor just, I don't know, summoned it with her sonic," Yaz says, trying to sound more certain than she is. "Look, at least now we don't need to worry about the Skithra getting him."

"Yeah, we just need to worry about keeping them out so that  _ we _ won't get eaten," Ryan snarks back.

He has a point. He usually does.

"We should be back pretty soon, so you'll have more help," she assures him. "Only a few more minutes."

"I'll make sure the door's open," Ryan says, and then hangs up.

Yaz slips her phone back into her pocket. "We need to hurry. The TARDIS is gone, and so's Tesla."

"Is everyone else okay?" asks Graham.

"Yeah, they're fine. Ryan says they aren't even at the lab yet."

Graham relaxes slightly at that. Yaz is sure he's been worrying the whole time they've been out warning people; it's sort of what he does. SHe just hopes that the three of them can make it back before the Skithra do.

Ryan's standing by the tunnel door, waiting for Graham and Yaz - and Edison, he supposes - when something  _ slams _ into the hastily-covered window near him and makes him flinch. With a very embarrassing yelp, he turns, and he can see beady red eyes glaring at him through a gap in the wooden boards covering the glass. The Skithra slams itself into the window again, shrieking.

He reaches for the death ray, just in case the thing manages to get in. Behind him, the door rattles like something's trying to get out. Eyes wide, he whirls to point the death ray at the door instead.

Maybe the Skithra got into the tunnels somehow and ate everyone, or-

"Ryan!" Graham calls, muffled by the door. "Let us in, will you?"

He relaxes, somewhat, and puts the death ray down to open the door. Graham is the first one out, quickly followed by Edison, then Yaz. They all look okay, which is a relief.

"Have they got here yet?" Yaz asks.

She's immediately answered by another horrible scream from the Skithra determinedly clinging to the window. There's a sound like nails on a chalkboard as something sharp scrapes down the glass - claws or teeth, Ryan's sure of it. Tesla had said they had mandibles, hadn't he?

And then the glowing red eyes peering through the slats blink out. The screech cuts off abruptly.

"What just happened?" Edison demands. "Where'd it go?"

Morbidly curious for the same answer, Ryan steps closer to the window. If this were some cheesy horror game, it's right about the time for the Skithra to lean back down and break the window. Instead, it seems to have disappeared entirely.

There is increasing evidence, in Nikola's opinion, that the universe has some grudge that it holds against him. He just wanted to investigate the wonders of this blue box, and now the entire room he stands in is shaking as if there's an earthquake. It's accompanied by a wheezing noise, like two pieces of metal rubbing together - strangely melodic, despite the circumstances. He catches himself on the control panel, trying to stay upright despite the way the floor rolls beneath him. When the room settles, no longer shaking, a thin sheet of glass suspended above the controls lights up, displaying an image of the inside of the Skithra ship.

The Doctor and the Master stand together, and Nikola can just make out the shape of the Skithra queen, prone on the ground. He blinks, and the image begins moving; the Doctor turns to look at the scattered mechanical parts Nikola had been trying to decipher not long ago. He can see every movement of her hands as she sorts through the pieces.

Clearly, it's some sort of projected image of what is happening on the Skithra vessel, though he can't even begin to guess at how it works. Yet another mystery to solve. He only wishes that he could hear what they say as well - and then, as if the wondrous ship he stands within had heard his thoughts, he can.

"It shouldn't take long to rig up an amplifier," the Doctor says. "Then we can call them back here, and… well, you know the rest of the plan."

"I should hope so," the Master laughs. "I came up with it."

The image is so detailed that Nikola can even see the Doctor roll her eyes in response, before turning back to the parts. She effortlessly assembles pieces he hadn't even understood the purpose of as easily as if she'd been doing it her whole life, with the aid of her energy scanning device. Though he knows, distantly, that he should be leaving the box to check that everyone else is alright, Nikola can't tear himself away from watching. Just until she finishes what she's making, he tells himself.

Partway through, a flash of light catches his eye from another part of the image, but by the time he looks over, it's gone. He goes back to observing what the Doctor is creating, and doesn't notice that the Skithra queen's position on the floor has changed ever so slightly.

And then the Doctor is finished, smiling and holding the odd device up in one hand, and despite his earlier resolution, he stays where he stands, watching. The Master takes it from her, turning it over, and nods.

"You press the button, and I'll do the honors?" he says.

She nods, walking over the panel of controls at the front of the ship. Nikola can't quite see what she does, but with a sudden rush of air, the ship is filled with Skithra, crawling across the floor and up the walls. A jolt of fear runs down his spine, terrified that they're about to attack the pair.

The Master raises his own energy scanning device in one hand, and the Doctor's contraption in the other, and the gathered Skithra collapse to the ground like so many stringless puppets. It's so sudden a change that for a moment, Nikola doesn't believe his eyes. But the Skithra, much like their queen, stay motionless even as the Master steps gingerly over them to join the Doctor at the controls.

"You did a lovely job with the amplifier, dear. They'll all be down for quite a while," he says, and he wraps his arms around her. Nikola glances away from the image, rather surprised by such blatant affection. "I'd say twenty, twenty-five kilometers out should be enough to make any waves unnoticeable, wouldn't you?"

As the two of them do something with the controls - the angle of the image doesn't allow him to see what - Nikola tries to piece together what they mean. What waves? What are they planning?

It hits him as he remembers where the Skithra vessel is currently located. If it is to be called a ship, then the Doctor and the Master intend to sink it to the depths of the Atlantic and make a shipwreck of it. Part of him can hardly be saddened about such a thing, particularly after what the Skithra did to him and were about to do to Earth. And yet… it seems a grim fate to inflict upon any being, and the pair of them are doing it while exchanging terms of endearment and casual touches. Even such terrible creatures as the Skithra deserve some measure of respect as they die.

On the floor, buried beneath the motionless bodies of her subjects, the Skithra queen begins to stir. Neither the Doctor nor the Master seem to notice as she stands, but Nikola can see as she rises to her full height, her scorpion's tail glowing red and threads of energy lancing off of it. She seems ready to attack, and Nikola inhales sharply as her tail aims itself at the Doctor, about to-

In one smooth motion, far faster than Nikola can process, the Master turns and points his scanning device at the queen. A streak of light - the same light Nikola had seen earlier - flashes across the image, and hits the queen. With barely a sound, the red light flickers to nothing, and she collapses once more among her subjects.

"Is she still trying to get up?" the Doctor asks, not even looking up from the controls of the ship. "I thought you'd shocked her at least ten times by now."

The Master sighs, sounding annoyed. "She's stubborn. And she keeps trying to kill you."

"Oh, yes, and you're the only one allowed to do that," she says. Her tone is oddly fond, and Nikola finds himself somewhere between bafflement and a slow-dawning horror.

Some part of him had suspected, of course, that they were themselves aliens, but until now he hasn't had to truly confront the thought. But the only alternative is that such casual amusement at the thought of death is what awaits humanity in the future, and that is too much for him to bear. He had thought the two of them kindred spirits - fellow inventors, fellow outcasts, even something quickly approaching friends. In the face of their glib cruelty to the Skithra and unnatural comfort with the concept of murdering each other, he is reconsidering all of it. 

"Well, obviously," the Master replies, the same fondness in his voice. "It'd be a waste if I wasn't the reason you died, after all this time."

The Doctor laughs, and Nikola feels sick to his stomach. She leans against the Master's shoulder, much the same as she had on the train. The two of them are silent for a long moment, and it gives Nikola time to properly  _ think. _

He should leave this box. He should step back out into Wardenclyffe and explain to Grace and Ryan, and Yaz and Graham if they have returned, that those two are mad. It's an insidious, charismatic madness, and he sees all too plainly how easy it would be to get drawn in, but surely the four of them must be able to see sense.

Still unsteady, he stands up straight and heads for the doors. He begins to pull it inward, and freezes cold when he sees what's outside. Not Wardenclyffe, as he had expected, but the Skithra ship, just as he had been seeing on the image.


	33. Shipwreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for things to collapse!

Though it's been several centuries since the Doctor piloted a Venusian ship - not to mention the added confusion of the mismatched controls - she manages to get the Skithra vessel to a patch of clear, empty ocean easily enough. No boats, no land for kilometers, and nobody to notice the few waves that might be stirred up by sinking the ship into sea. For their purposes, it's perfect.

"Whenever you're ready, dear," the Master hints.

"Right." She takes a breath in, holds it for a moment, and nudges the ship into a gentle angle of descent as she exhales.

Watching the water creep closer on the patchy screens in front of her almost makes the Doctor wonder if she's doing the right thing. With a shake of her head, she brushes the thought away. She'd given the queen a chance, and it's not her fault she decided not to take it. This needs to happen, to keep her friends - to keep  _ Earth _ safe.

The ship hits the surface of the water with a strangely buoyant feeling and a crash of water against the sides, and then presses deeper down. There's barely any power left in the engines, the Doctor knows, but it'll be enough to get them down to the abyssal plain that the Atlantic hides in its depths. Then, too heavy with the weight of stolen technology to rise again, the ship will stay and rust forever.

Her ears pop as the pressure intensifies: they're already several hundred meters deep. Nearly out of the sunlight zone, if she had to guess.

"We need to tell them something," she says, breaking the long silence between her and the Master. "The humans, that is."

He raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because they'll wonder what happened." One hand still on the controls, she turns to face him properly. "And… I said I would try to tell them more. I promised."

"So you want to tell them the truth, then?" he asks.

"No," she admits. "I don't. But I need to tell them  _ something. _ Maybe that we sent them off, fixed their engine in exchange for them leaving and rigged it so that it wouldn't work after they got away from Earth." A heavy sigh disturbs the still air of the ship. "I don't know."

"Whatever you say, I'm sure they'll believe you," the Master assures her.

It doesn't quite help, not really the answer she's looking for, but the warmth of his hand taking her free one is a comfort. He lifts their joined fingers and presses a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, then lets her tug it away to focus on steering the ship deeper, ever deeper.

The  _ thud _ of the ship hitting the sea floor almost startles her - her mind had gone wandering, trying to find something to tell her companions that won't make them hate her. Down here, so deep beneath the surface that light would be more hindrance than help, the monitors of the Skithra ship are no use. The darkness they show is as deep as the void of space, and just as empty.

"No fuel left in the engines!" the Doctor announces, words almost cheerful. "They'll be stuck here for… well, a while, at least. Don't know how long Skithra live for, but I doubt it's long enough."

"Back to your humans, then?" the Master says. "Drop them off at the right time for a while, and then we can take Nikola somewhere?"

"Sounds like a plan," she agrees.

She loves her companions, but even this one trip has made her eager for more time alone - or, at least, more time with the Master. A trip with Nikola Tesla sounds like the perfect way to relax after all of this. And next time, she'll be more honest.

The Master takes her hand, running his thumb over hers as they step carefully over the bodies of the stunned Skithra, making their way back to the TARDIS. She pushes the door open slowly, bracing for the change in pressure once she steps inside.

What she isn't braced for is the sight of Tesla, standing at the controls, staring at a monitor displaying the Skithra ship, not even glancing up when they enter. The Doctor feels her hearts plummet, going cold and panicky. This is bad, this is very, very bad.

"I can explain-" she starts.

"I thought you two were… like me," Tesla says softly, eyes still fixed on the monitor displaying dozens of Skithra bodies. "Inventors, creators, bringers of change. But you are just like those monsters. All you bring is death."

"It was to protect Earth," the Doctor insists. "To protect  _ you. _ There wasn't another way."

Tesla shakes his head, finally looking away from the monitor to meet her eyes. "You were enjoying it. Both of you, as you did this, you were enjoying it. And- and if I had not seen it occur, I do not think you would have told me the truth."

She wishes that she could argue, that she could protest that it wasn't what it looked like. But he's right, and she knows it. It had been so easy to forget that what she was doing was out of necessity, so easy to trade banter and pet names with the Master while they orchestrated the deaths of dozens of Skithra.

The Racnoss had been nearly wiped out by the Time War - was the same true of the Skithra? Had she just condemned the last remnants of a species to death? Was this yet another genocide to add to the list of regrets?

" _ I could hypnotize him, _ " the Master thinks, accompanying the thought with a squeeze of her hand. There's a reluctance to it, but no doubt that if she gave him permission, he would.

It's tempting, in much the same way that it had been tempting to wipe Ada Lovelace's memory not too long ago. And, for much the same reason, the Doctor refuses. She doesn't want to do that to him, even though it would make things so much easier. Tesla deserves better than that.

"It's not that simple," she says, well aware that she's been silent for too long for the words to really seem a response to what Tesla last said. "I gave her a chance to leave, and she didn't take it. She knew what the alternative was."

"A- a slow, cruel death at the bottom of the ocean?" Tesla asks, a slight waver to his voice. "You could not have been more kind?"

Again, the Doctor falls silent; again, he's right. There were other ways they could have done this, ways that would have been quicker or less torturous than starvation in the depths of the sea, and she had ignored them in favor of this one.

"What would you have done?" the Master says, suddenly harsh. "Let them go, to do the same thing on another planet? Call it unkind if you want, but it put a stop to them."

The anger in his tone isn't directed at the Skithra, nor at Tesla, the Doctor can tell. There's something more there, but she doesn't think even he knows what.

Tesla stares at him, disbelieving. The Doctor almost expects Tesla to do- something. To shout, or argue, or anything more than just look at the Master with betrayal written clear in his eyes. Finally, he shakes his head.

"Take me back to Wardenclyffe. I- I wish to leave this place, and this is your ship, correct?"

The Doctor nods. "Yeah. She's- ours, yeah. We can take you back."

Slowly, like moving through molasses, the Doctor steps towards the console, and tries to ignore the way that Tesla reflexively backs away like she's something dangerous. She'd tried so hard to get him to like her, and had almost begun to hope that he would say yes if offered the chance for a trip. She should have known better.

The Master joins her, and together they begin dematerializing the TARDIS, heading back for Wardenclyffe. The silence that hangs over them is choking. It takes everything in her to not ramble, to not try to justify herself to Tesla, to not say  _ something _ in hopes of fixing this mess. It's too late for that, too late to fix her mistakes now.

When the TARDIS materializes with a wheeze, the Doctor doesn't immediately open the door. She pauses, lingering awkwardly at the console, searching for the right words.

"Please don't tell them," she says, finally. "We will, I promise, but… not like this."

Tesla meets her eyes, and though she wants to shy away, the Doctor holds his gaze. "I cannot force you to tell the truth."

He steps past her, noticeably avoiding any sort of contact, pulls the door open, and leaves. A moment later, she follows; she still needs to get her companions, and she doubts Tesla wants them here any longer than necessary. She doesn't blame him, really.

Not a single word of what he'd said was untrue. Ever since she got the Master back, the Doctor knows that she's been… slipping, morally. But she'd ignored it, and told herself she'd worry about it later, and now she's paying for it.

Those seven months when she had lived with O, she'd tried so much harder to be  _ good. _ An atonement for whatever misstep had led to her being punished like that, in some ways. And then the moment the Master was back in her arms, she had stopped. Focused on making him happy and comfortable, on rebuilding what they'd lost, morality be damned. It was treacherous, unsteady ground, and somewhere along the way she had lost her foothold. That he'd been there to assuage her occasional bouts of guilt had only worsened things, in the grand scheme of it.

The Master's hand lands on her arm. "Doctor. Humans?"

"Right." She nods, taking a deep breath. "Yeah. We can drop them off, and then… we need to talk."

Perhaps in another body, she would have pulled her arm away from his touch as she heads out of the TARDIS to gather her companions; instead, she takes his hand. They're going to work through this together. Because she wants them both to get better, because they've made it too far to give up now, and because she isn't entirely sure either one of them would survive if they didn't.

Though her companions protest a bit at having to leave so quickly, the Doctor manages to spin something about staying longer making the timelines unstable - not a lie, per se, but not nearly true enough to be a real reason to leave. The real reason is that she can feel Tesla's eyes on her, every second, too knowing for her comfort. So she tells half-truths, blathers on about needing to leave, tells Tesla it was an honor to meet him, and tries not to let it sting when his echoing of the sentiment sounds more hollow than her hearts feel.

Then she pushes the mask of cheerfulness back into place, and she falls into the already familiar rhythm of piloting the TARDIS side by side with the Master.

"Doc, what exactly did you do to the Skithra?" Graham asks. Not prying, just curious, but it makes her bristle.

"We took care of it," she says, sharper than she meant to. "They won't be bothering people again."

"And does that mean?" Grace asks, and she is  _ definitely _ prying now. "You were up there quite a while."

"It means, we took care of it," the Master snaps.

The Doctor can't exactly miss the glances her humans exchange. Suspicious, worried, and a tiny bit afraid. She hates that, she hates scaring them, but telling the truth would only make it worse.

Her fingers tighten a little too much around the handle of a lever. "I offered the queen a choice. We could fix her ship and she could leave, or we would make sure she wasn't able to hurt anyone again. She picked the second option. That's all."

"Clearly, it isn't!" Yaz raises her voice, frustration and annoyance clear. "When Tesla got out of the TARDIS, he looked terrified of you - both of you! And before that, he was looking at you like he was hoping for a proposal. So  _ something _ happened."

There are times, the Doctor thinks, when Yaz is too observant for her own good. Usually, her perceptiveness is a useful skill, when directed at other people, but it makes the Doctor's skin crawl now.

"Drop it, Yaz," she sighs. "Please."

"No! You've been hiding stuff from us, and I-"

Yaz's words are cut off as an alarm begins to blare, and a string of harsh, barking syllables spit from the speakers. The lights of the console room flash red in time with the bleeping of the alarm, and the ship crashes to a halt on the very edge of Earth's atmosphere. Something is wrong.


	34. A Platoon of Judoon Near The Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe when I started writing SIS this episode hadn't even aired yet. I distinctly remember freaking out about it when I posted part of the very first arc of the fic! Thank you all so much for your support, whether you've been reading from the beginning or just found this fic a few days ago <3

"What's going on?" Ryan asks, shouting to be heard over the alarm.

"Judoon warning transmission!" the Doctor replies. She pulls a monitor closer to look at what it's actually a warning  _ of, _ and her brow furrows. "Notice of a zonal enforcement field on Earth? They don't even have jurisdiction there!"

"Nothing in or out," the Master notes. "Ooh, must be serious. Wonder what horrible criminal was hiding out there?"

Yaz crosses her arms and glares. "Are you  _ seriously _ doing this now? Every time we try to talk to you about things, something just  _ happens _ to get in the way? We're not stupid!"

"Yaz, this is serious." The Doctor turns the monitor, showing the warning. "There's a whole platoon of Judoon near the moon-" she scronches, "-more near Gloucester, really, but that's still bad."

" _ Why _ is that bad?" Yaz demands. "You haven't even said what a Judoon is!"

"They're extremely annoying intergalactic thugs," the Master says. "And they're notoriously difficult to dissuade from, say, killing a whole town because the convict they're looking for isn't cooperating."

Her eyes wide, Yaz finally loses some of the anger she'd been wielding like a sword. "Oh."

"So, we're going to do something about that, right?" Graham says. "Stop whatever it is they're doing, so that they don't do, uh, what he said?"

"'Course we are." Grace's voice is firm with conviction. It warms the Doctor's hearts a little, that Grace still trusts her enough to be so sure.

"Already working on it," she says. "Koschei, can you?"

She jerks her head towards the switch that regulates the TARDIS' rotation speed, and the Master flips it. A moment later, the ship shudders as the Doctor tries to force her way into the infinitesimal gap in the Judoon shields, just as they flicker off for less than a millisecond. It's narrow, barely enough space, but the TARDIS slips through.

They materialize in what the Doctor thinks is some sort of kitchen - all the stainless steel and the line of ovens is a fairly good hint. She doesn't stop long enough to properly investigate, though; the minute her companions have piled out of the TARDIS, she's heading for the door.

The kitchen is, apparently, attached to a small cafe of sorts. It's tidy and clean, and the huge windows give a good line of sight to the streets, where people are running around and clearly panicking. The Judoon must have already arrived.

"What are you doing in my kitchen?" the man behind the counter yelps.

"Stay inside and keep the door closed," the Doctor orders. "Do  _ not _ let anyone in. Especially alien police in helmets and black leather."

"Or do." The Master shrugs. "If you enjoy dying horribly."

The man on the opposite side of the counter glances at them, then takes off for the door with sudden urgency. As the door slams shut behind him, the bell jingles merrily.

"Oh, yeah. Go on, get out!" the owner calls. "Coward."

Yaz frowns, looking at the door. "What's wrong with him?"

"How long've you got?" the owner scoffs.

"No time at all," the Doctor says, cutting off any further questions. "Stay inside, lock the door."

With that, she turns and strides through the door. With all the human chaos in the streets, it'll be nearly impossible to find the Judoon just by looking, so she pulls out her sonic and scans for non-terrestrial energy signatures. She has to switch it over from the setting to call the TARDIS first, and she quickly pushes down the surge of guilt that rises in her chest at that. Now is not the time to think about those things.

"Come on!" she shouts, turning to make sure all of her companions are behind her. "This way!"

Her sonic leads her to a red brick building, tall against the trees of the park nearby it. Across the street, there's a body of water. Not quite a river, but it would probably be a very pretty scene if it weren't marred by a half-dozen Judoon. Most of them are holding disintegration rifles, and the single helmetless one has what the Doctor is pretty sure is a temporal isolator launcher stationed in front of it.

"Fugitive house unit located," it growls. "Prepare isolator."

Sometimes, she hates it when she's right. Exchanging a quick look with the Master, she pulls her psychic paper from her pocket and marches up to the squadron leader with as much bravado as she can muster.

"I hope you've got a permit for that." She flashes the paper in its face.

The Judoon blinks. "You're an imperial regulator?"

Not what she'd been expecting, but she can work with it. "Yes. And there's plenty here to regulate! For starters, you don't have jurisdiction here. So why you're using a class seven enforcement field around this city, bothers me a lot. More importantly, this temporal isolator-" she points at the thing, disdain in her voice "-is an outlawed piece of kit. Radiation leakage, and civilian casualties."

"Do you know what that sort of reputation for collateral damage will do to you, Captain?" the Master asks, the question clearly rhetorical. He steps forward, almost grinning. "You'll never find work again. The number of violations alone… Oh, the Shadow Proclamation would have a field day. Have you seen the paperwork for that sort of thing? I have."

"Fugitive is highly dangerous," the captain snaps. "Precautions must be taken."

The Doctor shakes her head. "Not this weapon. Not here."

"And if you can't handle the job without it, then maybe we should take over," the Master says. She can hear just a trace of hypnotism under the words, though she doubts it'll do much good. Judoon are difficult to influence, no matter the method.

"Give use ten Earth minutes, and I promise you, we'll have the entire thing taken care of," he continues. "And if we can't, then you can use that isolator all you like. Okay?"

The captain snorts, tossing its head, and glares - well, glares  _ more. _ "Negative. Mission must be fulfilled by the contracted troop. Judoon Engagement Article 1-6-3-B."

"That article is overridden by local Earth law…" The Doctor scrambles for a number, any number. "Twelve. Which  _ clearly _ states that any potential arrestee is entitled to arbitration by a third party. Isn't that correct, Liaison Officer Khan?"

She turns to look at Yaz, and hopes that the young woman won't be too angry at her to realize that she's meant to play along. Really, she needn't have worried. Yaz straightens her shoulders and nods.

"Absolutely correct," Yaz agrees. "Rule Twelve? Massive."

"As I was saying, Captain." The Master smiles, all charm. "Ten minutes, and we'll be out of your h- helmet."

"Five minutes," the captain argues.

"Rule Twelve subsection C mandates a minimum arbitration time of ten minutes, up to but not exceeding sixty," he says. Another smile, sharper and edged with steel. "We are being  _ very _ generous."

None of the Judoon seem particularly pleased, but the captain nods sharply. Without wasting any time, the Doctor heads for the building. She doesn't doubt that they've already started the countdown.

The temporal isolator had been aimed at the top floor of the building, so that's where she goes. Her feet pound on the stairs, and though they're too narrow to allow her to grab the Master's hand as she goes, she aches to. There's a tension, a slight tremble in the timelines that she knows isn't just due to the isolator. It's something more, something bigger, and she wants -  _ needs _ \- a steadying presence.

Finally, she reaches the top floor and knocks on the door. A dark-skinned woman opens it, looking somewhere between confused and frightened. She must have seen the Judoon outside, then. They're not exactly hard to miss.

"Pay attention, because every word I'm about to say is true," the Doctor says quickly. "There's a nasty bunch of alien police outside. They're pointing a highly dangerous cannon at this flat, and they'll fire it in about, er-"

"Nine and a half minutes," the Master fills in helpfully, from somewhere behind her.

She nods, reaching back to give his hand an appreciative squeeze. "Yeah. We might be able to stop them, but we need to understand exactly why they're here. So you need to let us in, quick."

The woman looks at her, frowns slightly, and then nods. She steps aside, pulling the door open to let them in.

"Right, tell us everything!" the Doctor orders, looking around the flat. Open floor plan, nice big windows, very little cover. Pretty to live in, bad to defend from a literal time bomb. And, for some reason, the man from the coffee shop is there too, hurriedly stuffing a suitcase.

"Who are you?" the man demands. He turns to the woman. "We need to leave!"

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. "Right into the arms of-"

She stops as a backlash of psychic pain hits her from the Master's mind, her hands flying instinctively to her head as though that will do  _ anything _ about the secondhand pain ripping through it. Tongues of flame lick along her thoughts, but they aren't meant for her; they've just spread from the Master's mind, and it is burning like a forest fire.

"Are you guys okay?" Ryan asks, voice cutting through the psychic agony. "What's wrong?"

"Don't know," the Doctor grits out. "Give me a sec."

Her hands bracket the Master's head - a mistake, a  _ mistake, _ it's only making the pain that much more intense - and she forces their foreheads together, shoves her way into his mind without any courtesy. He won't care, she knows, not with how they've lived half in each other's heads ever since he came back, not with the urgency of the situation.

It's almost like the museum, that one out of place painting that had set his mind ablaze, but so much worse. If that had been a single match's flame, then this is a bonfire. She had been able to douse the pain before, when it was just a painting and not tied to a clear memory, but she doesn't know if she can manage it now. The source of the pain, the memory forcibly blocked off, is orders of magnitudes larger and clearer, and she can't even find it among the flames.

In a desperate, panicked attempt to help, she just  _ smothers _ his mind with hers, hoping it's enough. It won't solve the problem, but it lessens the symptoms.

" _ Best I can do, Kos, _ " she thinks, trying to keep the thought gentle against the blistering of residual pain. " _ I'm so sorry. _ "

His gratitude is a soft blue, curling around her presence like a breeze. " _ I know. I know. _ "

Outside of their minds, he lets out a shuddering breath and sags against her. She's still so tangled in his mind that she can tell, without opening her own, that his eyes are still closed. It makes sense; something visual had triggered this, so he just needs to keep his eyes shut, and it should be fine. Well, not fine, because none of this is fine, but better.  


"Doctor?" Yaz asks, tentative.

Right. Humans. Judoon outside the house, and a matter of minutes before something goes horribly wrong. She needs to pull herself away from the Master and focus.

"You two had better start explaining," the Doctor snaps, turning to the two potential fugitives. "Because it was one of you that caused that, and I want answers. Now."


	35. Burnt Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said there'd be comfort to the hurt I inflicted last chapter, but... I don't know if it's really comfort  
> It's, uh, Not Actively Hurting The Master, though!

"We haven't done anything!" the woman protests. "I- I don't even know what's going on!"

"It's a case of mistaken identity," the man insists.

"Maybe it is," the Doctor says. "But either way, one of you is involved in this somehow. And I-" She stops, forcing herself to cut off the threat she'd been about to make. As easy as it would be to leverage the Judoon outside against them to get some answers - as much as she wants to - her companions are right there. She needs to be better than that. "I want to know why you're being targeted, and why you caused what just happened."

The Master's eyes are still closed, and he's leaning against her like he isn't sure he can stand on his own. Compulsively, the Doctor keeps running her thumb over his hand, keeps trying to soothe the pain of his mind. It's all she can do right now.

"You're saying you're innocent, but you're packing a suitcase?" Yaz asks.

"Looks like you're about to go on the road," Ryan adds.

Somehow, though it's hardly difficult to guess why, she'd managed to forget about that detail. The Doctor nods approvingly. "Good point, you two. Not that you'd get very far, given the enforcement perimeter they've just knocked up. You four, check the flat and see if you can find anything out of the ordinary. If it's not these two, then it could be something inside here."

"You're  _ not _ going through my flat!" the woman argues.

Oh, she does not have  _ time _ for this. Her thoughts are already scattered and it's an effort to not just drag the Master back to the TARDIS and make sure he's okay, the Judoon and their fugitive be damned.

"Yes, they are," the Doctor says firmly.

She grabs her sonic out of her pocket, ready to scan the two humans and make sure that they're really as innocent as they claim. Then she can help the Master, and they can solve this together, and-

"Uh, guys?" Ryan sounds tentative, somewhat nervous. "Do you know where Nan and Graham went?"

Grace is not panicking. A lifetime of late-night nursing shifts and, more recently, regular experience running for her life and handling alien wars have taught her to respond calmly to unexpected situations - and finding herself going from Earth to flat on her back somewhere else is definitely one of those.

To her left, she hears Graham groan in pain. She pats his hand, and together they help each other sit up. Wherever they are, it's pretty, in an open, angular way. Strange pyramids dot the white floor, golden light beaming from the edges, and there's what looks to be the control panel directly in front of them.

"Don't move!" orders a voice, crackling with feedback like it's coming through a loudspeaker. "Seriously, not a muscle. Working on the movement sensors. If you even flinch, you'll set off the laser spikes, and trust me, they get  _ everywhere. _ By the way - lookin' good!"

Though she doesn't dare move her head, Grace can see Graham's look of bafflement out of the corner of her eye, and her lips twitch. But, as amusing as her husband's reactions are, she does have more serious things to worry about.

"Where are we?" she asks. "How did we get here?"   


"And who are you?" Graham adds.

For a moment, there's no reply. Then-

"Neutralized. Coming to join you." Somehow, the voice gives off the impression of a suggestive grin. "You can get excited now."

In a flash of blue light, a man appears in front of the controls. He's wearing a long blue coat and exactly the sort of smile his voice had implied, his arms spread wide. And he's handsome - rugged, Grace thinks, like some sort of action movie hero.

"Hah! You missed me, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, or introducing himself, the man walks up to Graham and kisses him. Grace blinks. Then, a moment later, the man releases her very startled husband, and does the same to her. When he pulls back, he's still beaming.

"What was that for?" she asks, somewhat breathless.

"Have we met?" Graham manages, strangled.

"Sorry, wasn't sure which one of you is the Doctor," the man says cheerfully. "Had to cover all my bases. So, new regeneration, huh? Still as gorgeous as ever, though."

Grace looks at Graham. Graham looks back, equally unsure of how to react.

"Ah, well…" he starts.

"They were with us just a minute ago," Yaz frowns. "They can't have disappeared."

"We only have-" the Doctor pauses, counting. "-five minutes left. We can find them later. Right now, I need you two to search the flat."

Ryan looks at her, more serious than she's seen him in quite some time. "The second we're done here, we're looking for them."

She meets his eyes and nods. "I promise."

With that, Ryan and Yaz begin looking around, and the Doctor points her sonic at the two humans. She'd gotten distracted by the realization of Grace and Graham's disappearance, but she still needs to figure out who the Judoon are after.

"What are you doing?" the man demands, as she swipes her sonic up and down. "What is that?"

"A device that tells me…" She glances at the readings, then scans the woman. A confused frown furrows her brow. "You're both completely human."

There's a look in the man's eyes that worries her, though she can't quite figure out why. A little too close to relief, a slight relaxation of the shoulders, as if he hadn't been sure what the results would be. Just another tiny bit of evidence adding up to… nothing good, she's certain of that much.

"Please. I'm trying to save a lot of lives here, including yours," the Doctor says. "If you have  _ any _ idea why the Judoon are pursuing you, you have to tell me right now."

Neither of them say a thing. She wishes she could be surprised, but… the woman seems genuinely confused, and the man is too good a liar - she may not know what he's lying about, but she knows that he is - to give now. It was a last ditch effort either way.

The Master's grip on her hand tightens, and she takes the clear hint. They need a more permanent solution than this to his problem. But right here, right now, she doesn't exactly have many options. He can't even open his eyes without risking reigniting that horrible flame.

"I'm going to step outside real quick," she says. "If you think of anything, please tell me."

She lets go of the Master's hand to put her arm around his shoulder instead, guiding him to the door. The moment they're out of the flat, standing in the hallway instead, he sinks to the ground. Given everything, she can hardly blame him, and she joins him quickly enough, taking his hand in hers again. Still breathing far more harshly than normal, he leans against her shoulder.

"Do you-" she starts to ask.

He cuts her off. "No. Something in that flat, clearly, but I can't tell what. It's all together."

Gentle, the Doctor presses a kiss to the side of his head. Through their connection, she can feel his mind still smoldering, but it's less bright, less painful now that he's away from the cause. Dying embers of a brutal, arsonous flame. It's times like this when she wishes she was a better telepath; what she wouldn't give to be able to help him right now…

"There's nothing you can do, love," he says, in response to her desperate thought. "This is too complicated. I don't know if  _ I _ can fix it. Definitely not in the next four minutes."

"Three and three quarters," she corrects, more for something to say than because she thinks he doesn't know.

The Master rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

He turns slightly, wraps an arm around her shoulders until they're both leaning on the other. For a moment, the Doctor lets herself pretend that she isn't on borrowed time, that she's not a scant few minutes away from being responsible - indirectly, at the very least - for a tear in Time. Just for those few, peaceful breaths, hearts beating in sync and minds impossible to tell apart, they're okay.

Though she knows she won't be able to do much, she presses her mind into the Master's memories. He always keeps his organized in a neat filing system, something set up centuries upon centuries ago by one of his younger selves. It shows; the older ones, from when they were younger and not yet sure how to play this game of rivalry properly, are more tidy, while the past few centuries grow steadily more chaotic as they inch towards the present moment.

It's only when she gets to a certain point - after the hastily-closed files that house the incident with the Dalek, after the memory of Gallifrey's summons - that things begin to get corrupted. Everything after entering the Citadel is hazy and uncertain, held together only by prior knowledge and the Doctor's own memories that help fill in the blanks. After they parted ways in the Panopticon, it only gets worse. She catches glimpses of rooms, garbled snippets of conversation, a single moment of glimmering satisfaction as he reached the Matrix chamber.

That's where it all devolves into the blunt force telepathic block, and the Doctor steers clear of those memories. Just trailing her psychic projection's hand over the construct of the filing cabinet gets uncomfortably warm, and she can feel the Master press a warning against her mind.

Next is… O. Those memories, too, are fuzzy, preserved by a human's patchy recollection and not a Time Lord's. Most of them are fond, though, and she's surprised to realize that all the clearest ones feature her. Again, the Master's consciousness nudges at hers; it's a sore spot for him, and he'd rather not have her poking around right now. Though she's curious, the Doctor draws back from his memories entirely after that.

Her internal countdown hits three minutes even, and she knows she should get up and go back inside. Really, it shouldn't be so hard to persuade herself. She won't even be that far from the Master, only apart by a single door. They've gone  _ centuries _ without seeing each other, for goodness sakes.

And yet, the thought of being even that small distance from him makes her nervous. It's different, now, than it had been before. She can't lose him again.

"I'll be fine, love," he says, giving her hand a squeeze. "Go play hero to some humans."

Before she stands, reluctant but knowing it's what she needs to do, the Doctor kisses him. Quick, barely more than a press of lips, but enough to curl her mind against his one last time before she has to break the more intimate contact.

Then, though she can't quite squash the worry churning in her stomach, the Doctor walks back into the flat.


	36. Limited Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one loooong scene today, since it needs to happen  
> Next time, there's some proper angst

The Doctor steps back into the flat, past the humans - and they're definitely human, even if she doesn't trust the man - and towards the back of the flat in search of her companions. Ryan is in the living room, digging through some papers.

"Find anything?" she asks.

"Few cash flow problems." He shrugs. "A collection of old phones and keys?"

Nothing useful, then. Not good, but not surprising.

Ryan is silent for a few seconds, pressing his lips together and glancing around awkwardly. "Doctor, are you okay? What happened back there, with you and him?"

"It's complicated." Shoving her hands into her pockets, she tries not to look directly at him. "Memory thing, sort of connected to O. I-"

Yaz's arrival cuts her off, and she's grateful. Though she may owe them an explanation of what had happened with Tesla and the Skithra, Gallifrey is… private. Still a raw subject, one that she isn't eager to discuss.

"I found this in the bedroom," Yaz says, holding out a small box to her. "Hollow compartment in the back of the wardrobe."

Taking it in hand, the Doctor inspects it. It's pale gold, covered in intricate filigree curls and designs, and the lid is locked tightly closed. Something about it seems just a little familiar, like she's seen it before. Intrigued, she pulls her sonic from her pocket and scans it.

"And that," she checks over the readings again, making sure, "is not from Earth."

"So where's it from?" asks Ryan.

The readings indicate somewhere in the Kasterborous constellation, but that's impossible. Or, at least, extremely unlikely. It could, of course, be from somewhere else in the constellation, but she  _ knows _ she isn't that lucky. Not with the temporal energy clinging to it.

"Not sure yet," she lies.

Glass shatters; one of the windows in the kitchen, if the Doctor were to guess. With a shared, worried glance, the three of them head for the kitchen.

There, on the counter amid shards of glass, sits a spiky red object, maybe the size of a fist. It's native Judoon technology, she recognizes that much - some kind of speaker.

"It just came flying through the window!" the woman gasps.

The tiny yellow screen on the speaker begins to blink on and off, lighting up as a Judoon's voice issues from it. "Isolation of fugitive housing unit in one hundred and twenty seconds!"

"Doesn't time fly when you don't have all the answers?" the Doctor mutters. She shows the box to the two humans. "So, anyone have any idea what this is?"

The woman shakes her head. "No, I've never seen it before."

An awkward silence fills the room for a second, and the Doctor fixes her gaze on the man. He licks his lips, eyes darting off to the side before meeting hers.

"No, me neither," he says.

"We found it in your bedroom," Yaz adds.

Still, he stays quiet, glancing down at the box ever so slightly. Desperate, almost, like he doesn't want anyone else holding it.

"You'd better be telling the truth," the Doctor warns. "'Cause there's a lot of innocent people that could die if we don't sort this out, quick."

Again, the Judoon speaker blinks yellow. "One hundred seconds!"

Unwavering, the Doctor meets the man's gaze. For a few heartbeats, nobody moves, and she isn't entirely sure who's going to break first. Then he stretches out his hand.

"Give me the box."

"Ninety seconds!"

"Give me the box." His voice is more firm, more clearly an order meant to be obeyed. Too bad for him that she's great at ignoring those.

The woman stares at him, eyes wide. "Lee, what is that?"

"It's nothing," he says, shaking his head.

"No, it clearly is  _ something, _ " she insists. "Because suddenly, you're all bothered about it, and I've never seen it before in my life!"

Lee looks at the Doctor. "You're in charge, right?"

"It's a very flat team structure," she deflects. It certainly doesn't feel like one, these days, but...

"You're the smartest, I can see it in your eyes." He points to the back of the flat. "Use the fire exit out the back, take Ruth, get her out, make sure she's okay. I can take care of this."

Ruth frowns, looking at Lee with something close to betrayal. "What? No, you can't."

"What's in the box, Lee?" the Doctor asks. "Who are you really?"

"It's none of your business," he says, shaking his head.

"You've got half of Gloucester under Judoon lockdown, and something about you was familiar enough to set off some  _ very _ intricate memory blockers for my partner," she snaps. "I'm  _ making _ it my business."

"Fifty seconds!" the speaker announces.

"I can deal with this," Lee says, firmly. "Just… take Ruth."

"Forty-five seconds!"

He turns to Ruth, hugging her tight, like this is the last time he's going to see her. The Doctor tries not to be reminded of the gentle kiss she'd left the Master with; he's just outside, she can still feel his mind connected to hers, and she'll see him again soon.

"Look, I've- I've made a mistake." Lee's voice is totally different, now that he's talking to Ruth, softer and more honest. "You're the most important thing in my life. I can't let others lose their lives. I need to make sure you're safe."

"What do you mean, a mistake?" Ruth asks.

"I just need to talk to them, okay?"

"But they're space rhinos, Lee!" she argues. "What are you going to chat to them about?"

"Thirty seconds!" the speaker warns.

Though she hates to interrupt their moment, the Doctor does, unfortunately, need to. "They'll see us getting out the fire escape. Unless…"

"Diversion!" she and her companions exclaim, all at once.

"Look, you take Ruth, we'll go out the front and distract the space feds," Ryan says.

Lee glances at them, incredulous. "Do you think that'll work?"

"No." Ruth shakes her head. "'Cause I'm not going anywhere without Lee."

"I'm a police officer, I speak their language," says Yaz. "A bit of stalling, buy time to get them away, then we can come inside with them and be by your side."

"I don't need you to be here," Lee sighs, annoyed.

"You obviously do, 'cause there's a cannon about to fire at your flat!"

"Time limit exceeded!" the speaker announces. The screen flashes red. "Initiating temporal isolation!"

"We're out of time," the Doctor hisses. "It's the best plan we've got for keeping this block safe." She whirls to face Yaz and Ryan. "Right, be careful. The Judoon might look dumb, but they're deadly. And take the Master with you, he'll make sure if something goes wrong you're safe."

"Yeah, 'cause he's so trustworthy," Ryan mutters.

"I trust him with my life," she says. "And you trust me, right?"

They exchange a quick glance, and then nod. She tries not to be relieved at that.

"Once this is over-" Yaz starts.

"I know, I know, explanations," the Doctor nods. "Now get going!"

Both of them head for the door, and she can feel the Master's mind flicker with an emotion somewhere between amusement and annoyance a moment later. The impression of a shrug that she sends back gets her a telepathic eye roll.

Lee gently pushes Ruth away. "Go, go, before they launch that thing!"

The Doctor makes for the back door, Ruth close behind her. As she shuts the door, she hears Lee call, "See you at the cathedral!"


	37. Flirting with Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start getting... interesting, for both halves of our favorite dumbass duo!

Scrambling down the fire escape, just barely out of sight of the Judoon, is nerve-wracking. The Doctor's hands shake ever so slightly as she grips the rungs of the ladder, inching down, Ruth beneath her. She isn't sure why - it's not as though she's never done this before. Ladder climbing in high-stress situations is fairly common for her. But something about this whole situation has her on edge.

When she drops to the ground, she's quick to drag Ruth behind the wall, away from the road. Some part of her wants to just stay there for a moment; she can hear the Master's voice as he persuades the Judoon to disable their isolator, and she doesn't want to leave. Then Ruth lets out a shuddering breath, and she remembers the terrified human she needs to protect.

"Lee said the cathedral, yeah?" the Doctor whispers. "As in Gloucester Cathedral?"

It takes Ruth a moment to respond, still wide eyed. "Yeah. I- I give tours there. I was just there earlier, when they arrived."

"Okay, which way is that?"

Ruth points, away from the Judoon. The Doctor nods.

"Well, you know this place better than I do. Lead the way, Ruth."

They're only a few furtive, silent footsteps away from the building when the Doctor feels something go  _ wrong. _ The Master's presence against her mind disappears - no, dims. He's still there, just distant, further away than he should be, and she nearly freezes up out of sheer, overwhelming  _ emptiness _ and terror. But he's alive, he's okay, just suddenly very far away and confused, and she is fine, she can handle that.

She covers up her abrupt stop with a quick almost-trip, and gives Ruth an apologetic shrug, and tries not to panic as they continue walking.

One moment, the Master is telling a group of Judoon to follow him inside and deal with the fugitive peacefully, Yaz and Ryan behind him. The next, he feels the distinctive chill of a dimensional scoop as it encircles him and snaps him up, and he's standing on a dimly lit ship. In the back of his mind, where the Doctor should be, there's sharp panic and fear, and his mind feels so empty for a moment that it makes him dizzy. Her presence is there, but muffled by the distance between them. Hopefully it's enough for her to know that he's alive.

"Graham!" Yaz exclaims, at the same moment Ryan shouts, "Nan!"

Well, at least he didn't lose them. That would have annoyed the Doctor. With a sigh, the Master opens his eyes and sees-

Oh no. No, no, no. He can already feel his skin crawling from the paradoxes roiling off the man - except he's not a paradox, he's the opposite, fixed in time in ways living things should not be, in ways that make the Master's sense of Time hiss and spit, in ways that turn everything else around him into paradoxes instead and that's  _ worse. _ Worse than the pain of memories still sparking, worse than the loneliness already making his fingers twitch, worse in new-yet-old and exciting-yet-known ways.

"What just happened?" Ryan asks.

"What are we doing here?" demands Yaz.

"He stole this ship, we're being fired at, and he said he's trying to find the Doctor," Grace explains.

"We need to get back," the Master mutters. "We can't stay here."

The walking, talking tangle of wrongness steps closer, smiling and raising his eyebrows appreciatively. It makes the Master want to kill him just out of spite; it won't stick, anyhow.

"Digging the beard," he says, winking. "But they said  _ she, _ not  _ he, _ so…" He points at Yaz. "You, not one of you, right?"

"None of us are the Doctor," the Master snaps, before he can think to stop himself. "Now will you let us off of this ship, or should I-"

He stops, cutting off the threat he'd been planning. There is no doubt in his mind that Harkness has, at the very least, some lingering resentment for… certain incidents, and the last thing he wants right now is to get killed. Especially not by  _ him, _ because he might actually try to do it for good.

Another pointed glance, another flirtatious smirk that the Master wants to vaporize. "Feisty, aren't you? But really, five of you? She's branching out."

Something crashes into the ship, and the whole thing rocks sharply to the side. An alarm begins to blare. The Master grits his teeth and tries not to let his frustration show. Of course it's not enough that he's stuck on a ship with the personification of temporal wrongness, or that his mind is achingly alone without the Doctor there, but now the ship is under attack.

The bells of Gloucester Cathedral are tolling, mournful and low, at the Doctor and Ruth step inside. They don't use the West entrance - too obvious, just in case the Judoon are still pursuing them - instead creeping through the South entrance. The whole place seems to be empty, the air cold inside stone walls.

"All clear," the Doctor says, peering into the massive, open space. As they stand, they're between the choir and the western hall. She remembers watching as it was built; the tombs beneath still empty and undug, then.

Her hands are still shaking, barely perceptible tremors of her fingers that she hides, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. If only it were so easy to hide the way her mind is reaching out, desperate for the Master's to be closer to her. She can barely feel him, now, just a taunting glimpse of a lifeline when she is already too far drowned.

"Now, you need to tell me everything you know about Lee," she orders Ruth, trying to force her voice to stay steady. "How long you've been together, and what was that metallic box?"

Ruth stares at her, still confused. "I-"

A bright jingle interrupts her, and she pulls out her mobile. Ruth glances at it, then looks up at the stained glass of the cathedral, but it doesn't seem like that's what she's seeing. Her eyes are wide and unfocused, her lips trembling, and the Doctor feels a chill run down her spine that isn't thanks to the cold air in the church.

"Is that from Lee?" she asks.

Ruth blinks, refocusing, and shakes her head. "No. It's nothing."

The Doctor begins to reconsider her earlier confidence that Ruth was innocent. That was a lie, an effortless one, and even if she doesn't believe it, the ease with which Ruth had said it makes her wary. She follows the woman as she steps further into the nave, suspicion growing.

The Judoon come out of nowhere, stepping from the shadows with their disintegration rifles held high. Breath catching in her throat, the Doctor backs up, and only stops when she bumps into Ruth doing the same thing.

"This cathedral is under Judoon control! All occupants must surrender immediately! There will be no escape this time! We have you surrounded!"

And, indeed they do. All five are there, the four helmeted ones blocking any escape routes, and the captain staring the Doctor down. She takes a breath in, then steps forward, all harmless good-natured foolishness and not a trace of anything else.

"How can I help?" she asks, trying a smile even though she doubts it will matter.

The captain jabs a finger at her. "You interfered, regulator."

"You know what they say. One person's arbitration is another person's interference. Very blurry line." As she talks, she steps just a little bit closer, hand inching for her coat pocket. In a smooth motion, she pulls out her sonic and points it at the rifle at the captain's side. "This is a place of worship, show some respect. Or I'll overload those guns and make it a bad day for everyone."

With a grunt, the captain shakes its head. The Doctor tries to keep a sharp smile off of her lips.

"Now, let us go, and nobody needs to get hurt."

"What have you done with Lee?" Ruth asks.

It's only the knowledge that if she does, it will end poorly, that keeps the Doctor from whirling around and telling Ruth to shut up.

"Information request granted." The captain presses a button on its chestplate, and a red-tinged hologram projects into the air. Ruth's flat, Lee surrounded by helmeted Judoon. A hand points a gun - neither Judoon in origin, the Doctor notes with surprise - at Lee, and he's vaporized. The hologram shuts off. "Sentence: execution."

"You murdered him," the Doctor mutters. She feels a spike of anger that isn't quite her own, but it settles into fury regardless. "That is a violation of your contract!"

"Incorrect," says the captain. It pulls out a scanner, pointing it at Ruth. "Contract stated retrieval of fugitive. Fugitive identified."

" _ What? _ " The Doctor finally turns, looking at the woman beside her. Ruth's face is emotionless, staring ahead blankly, not even reacting.

"Biological shielding decrypted." The captain steps closer. "Fugitive positive."

For a heartbeat, nobody moves. Then there's a blur of motion as Ruth pulls the captain's outstretched arm down sharply, her other hand coming up in a fist to deliver a punishing blow to the side of its head. She kicks it to the ground in one fluid movement, and is on the next Judoon before any of them can react.

The Doctor stumbles backwards slightly, watching in something close to horror as Ruth quickly and efficiently sends another two to join their leader on the floor in mere seconds. It's a harsh, painfully effective fighting style she hasn't seen in a very, very long time.

As she kicks the third Judoon down, Ruth snatches the disintegration rifle out of its hands, and then whirls to point it at the captain, who's only now begun trying to stand again. It freezes on its knees, hands flying up into the air.

"That's it!" she snaps. "Back up or daddy rhinoform gets it."

"What are you doing?" the Doctor demands.

"Feels like… instinct. Against the bullies." Ruth smiles, but it's not quite right on her face. Cruel, sharp, enjoying all of this a little too much. "'Cause you know the thing about bullies? There's always a weak spot."

She reaches down, hand curling around the captain's lower horn, and  _ pulls. _ There's a sickening tearing sound as the keratin rips free of the connective tissue, and the captain bellows in pain. The Doctor gasps, far too late to do anything.

Ruth's hand slams into the button on the howling, humiliated captain's chest and she barks out a string of Judoon syllables the Doctor only distantly recognizes as a return order for their teleports. Seconds later, the whole platoon has disappeared.

The harsh, furious look on Ruth's face crumples into one of horror and shock. Her stolen laser rifle disappeared along with the Judoon, but one hand is still in the position of holding it, the other clenched tightly around the captain's horn. Eyes huge, she looks down, and for a moment the Doctor's afraid she's going to faint.

"Do you know what you've just done?" she demands. "Who are you?"


	38. Stained Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things Get Worse :)

The Master can feel his connection with the Doctor weakening with distance as Harkness haphazardly pilots the ship further and further from Earth. If his mind was any less scattered at the moment - from the paradoxes lurking in the air, waiting to strike, from the burnt recollections smoldering - he would be trying to reach out to her, but he  _ can't. _ Not now.

Another sharp turn has all of them stumbling as Harkness yanks the controls of the ship to the side, just barely enough to avoid the laserfire chasing them.

"You need to take m- us back," the Master snaps. "Or learn to steer better."

"The Doctor needs us," Yaz adds.

As much as he'd love to protest the point, the Master keeps his mouth shut. Anything the humans do to help is tolerable right now.

"Listen, I'm working with some low-rent equipment here," Harkness replies, voice strained.

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Ooh, she likes them mouthy, then, huh?"

Any further continuation of this  _ charming _ banter that makes the Master want to kill someone is cut off by another blast of lasers grazing the ship, sending it tipping precariously to the side. Harkness stabilizes it quickly but inelegantly - clearly, he doesn't know how to use his stolen equipment.

"Why didn't it scoop her?" he mutters. "Why can't I get her here?"

"There's a Judoon enforcement field in the way. You're lucky you even got us," the Master says, biting back the more insulting commentary his brains are providing.

Harkness turns, looking at him, intrigued. "You're not from Earth, are you? How do you know that?"

The Master stiffens, cursing his need to show off, his eagerness to get back to the Doctor. He needs a cover story, fast.

"I'm from Gallifrey," he says, before his brains catch up with his mouth. Something about today has him thinking of dear old home, apparently.

"You're another Time Lord?" There's plain suspicion in Harkness' voice, too close to the start of putting two and two to come up with a result the Master does not need to deal with on top of everything else.

He shakes his head. "Nah, just a regular old Gallifreyan."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the humans exchange confused glances, but gratefully, none of them decide to say anything. Sometimes, he thinks, they know what's good for them.

"Well, do you know how to fix a dimensional scoop?" Harkness asks.

"If it gets us back with the Doctor faster, I can try," the Master says, stepping closer to the controls and forcing down a wave of nausea as he gets nearer to the abomination against Time itself. Hopefully, he can stomach that discomfort for long enough to get back down to Earth.

Though sunlight pours in through stained glass windows, bathing the chapel in colorful light, the Doctor can't appreciate any of it. Ruth sits on the smooth marble steps, staring down at the floor. She hasn't said a word since they left the nave, since the Judoon disappeared.

The tremor in the Doctor's hands, hardly noticeable before, is more pronounced as she scans the air with her sonic, searching for any trace of the Judoon. She's restless, a nervous energy tense and coiled in her stomach that she can't shake no matter how much she paces back and forth, back and forth. When the sonic alerts her that it's done, she finally makes herself stop for a moment.

"Total Judoon evacuation," she mutters, reading the results with a frown. "They've even removed the enforcement perimeter."

Ruth looks up, a tiny glimmer of hope in her eyes. "That's got to be good."

"No. Judoon switching strategy means things have got very bad and very  _ personal _ now." The Doctor steps closer, leaning so that she's roughly level with the human. "Ruth, you just dishonored a Judoon captain - removing their horn is the worst insult. I think you know far more than what you're telling me. About Lee, and about why the Judoon are here. It's time to share."

"I don't know anything," Ruth mutters. "I don't even know how I did what I just did to them."   


The worst thing is, she sounds sincere - she sounds  _ terrified. _ Uncertain and in need of reassurance that the Doctor can't give right now because what little coherency is left in her painfully lonely and panicked mind is too focused on solving this mystery to help with emotions on top of everything else.

She scans the woman again, this time with a setting specifically for bio-encryption. Not that it's much help, beyond confirming that there is one in place, and that it's locked tight.

"I don't have the decryption for your bioshield," the Doctor sighs. "You and Lee must have both had them. Very sophisticated. Like biological cloaking."

Unbidden, she remembers O, remembers desperately searching for a way to help him for months upon months. Between the bio-encryption and the origins of that mysterious box Yaz had found that Lee was so very attached to, there's a definite connection to Gallifrey. But Ruth  _ can't _ be a Time Lord, there's no reason a Time Lord would be hiding from the Judoon unless they were a renegade, and she knows most of those. It doesn't quite add up, and it's driving her mad.

"Look at me." Ruth's plea draws the Doctor's attention back to her as the woman stands. "I know my own life. I am Ruth Clayton. I'm forty-four, I'm married, I'm a tour guide. And I am  _ scared. _ Back then, that wasn't me. My hands… they just moved, they…"

"Well if it wasn't you, then who was it?"

"I don't know. I don't understand any of this. None of this is me, it can't be," she insists, frantic. After a deep, shaky breath, she adds, "Help me."

"Show me your phone," the Doctor orders. When Ruth gives her an odd look, she elaborates. "You received a message, just before you went all… not-you."

Nodding, Ruth holds her phone out. It shows her text conversations with Lee - mostly mundane things, whether they're out of milk and eggs, when he's supposed to get home. But the last message, sent only ten minutes ago, is different. All capital letters, for a start, and a strange phrase even without that.

"Follow the light. Break the glass." Something about those words makes the Doctor very, very nervous. "Ruth, I don't think you are who you say you are,  _ or _ who you think you are. I think there's another identity hidden within you. Maybe this text is an activation message, words to trigger the real you, the instincts that enabled you to attack the Judoon!"

It's possible, technically, to do that with Chameleon Arch technology. Complicated and extremely risky, but possible. Maybe she was right, maybe Ruth is from Gallifrey. But that only raises more questions.

She nearly drops the phone as a particularly sudden tremor makes her fingers twitch, and she  _ needs _ to get that under control. Bad enough that her mind is desperately reaching for the Master's like a plant towards light, bad enough that she can barely think straight right now without her thoughts spiralling towards him again, but she cannot deal with physical repercussions on top of all that. Before now, she hadn't even known that was possible; that what she can only term as  _ psychic withdrawal _ could have an effect on her body as well. But, well, it just figures that it would.

"No. I'm not that person," Ruth says, shaking her head. "I don't want to be that person."

If only it were that easy. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice." The Doctor holds the phone up again, gripping it tightly enough to keep it steady, pointing at the text. "Do you have any idea what this means? The light, the glass?"

Wordless, eyes unfocused - so very similar to how she'd looked when she got the message - Ruth walks past her, as if in a trance. Her footsteps are slow, steady, as if she's walking towards something that the Doctor can't see. Curious, the Doctor begins to follow her.

"Yeah, I do," Ruth murmurs, a few moments later. It doesn't really sound like she's talking to anyone but herself. "I just saw it. But it's just a memory."

"A memory of what?"

"The lighthouse, where I grew up. My family home." She stops moving, and the Doctor walks in front of her, watching as she frowns in confusion. "Why am I seeing that now? I haven't thought about that for years."

"It's something to do with this message. He had to send it before the Judoon got to him," the Doctor says. "What did he know? Are you sure it's your home?"

"Course I'm sure. I know where I was brought up. My parents are buried there, on the land outside." Ruth pauses, tears welling up in her eyes. "I haven't thought about them for years either."

"Do you know how to get there?" asks the Doctor.

Ruth nods. "Of course I do."

If she's right - if Ruth really is a Time Lord - then she wouldn't have had a family home to remember. The lighthouse might exist, but those memories would have to be fake. Like how O had been convinced that- no, not the time to think about that, she needs to  _ focus. _

"Then we're going," she says sharply. "Me and you, now."

Ruth's car is back at her flat, but since that's freshly Judoon-less, it's not difficult to get there. In fact, now that the Judoon have retreated, however temporarily, Gloucester looks almost normal as they drive through.

The Doctor sits in the passenger side, her hands balled into fists hidden in her coat pockets, nails digging into her palms as she tries to keep them still. Her leg bounces nervously, and she's fairly sure that her heartsrate is higher than it should be, but she can chalk those up to the adrenaline and excitement of the current situation, not the fact that her mind is dizzyingly empty and alone right now. She can barely feel the Master, just the faintest flicker of his presence tucked away like a forgotten secret.

After nearly twenty minutes of driving in silence, she speaks, mostly in hopes of finding something to distract herself with. The scenery passing by isn't nearly entertaining enough to compensate for the fact that there should be three people in the car, there should be a hand holding hers, there should be-

"So, tell me about your parents."

"Wish I could tell you I adored them, but they chose to live in a disused lighthouse. That tells you how good they were with people," Ruth says, more than a little bitter.

She glances over, eyebrows raised. "Not like you, in the heart of the city, talking to people all day long."

"I guess we all rebel against our parents," Ruth sighs.

Those memories don't come from nothing, the Doctor knows. They have some root, some actual event that they're a distortion of. So what, then, was Ruth's true past like? A distant family isn't all that unfamiliar for Time Lords, so that doesn't come as a surprise, but why the lighthouse? Why would her memories be tethered to something so distinctive and concrete?

"It's part of growing up, isn't it?" she continues.

"Never been a fan of growing up," the Doctor remarks.

Ruth hums, goes back to looking at the road. Fields of slightly yellowed grass surround them on either side, bordered by trees. The now-overcast sky gives it all a somewhat dreary look. It looks like it might rain soon.

"They loved it out here," Ruth says. "Suited them."

"Loved it so much that they wanted to be buried here?"

Another oddity - why such notable memories of parents? Why weren't they distant-but-loving and still alive, why does Ruth remember them  _ buried? _ What's the purpose of trying to draw her back to her false childhood?

"Yep."

"You'd moved away by then?"

"Yeah."

"But you still own the lighthouse?"

Ruth nods. "Yeah, they left it to me. But I never wanted to come back here to live, though."

Maybe, then, the lighthouse was meant to keep Ruth  _ away, _ not drawn to it. Maybe there's something important here that she isn't meant to find. The Doctor's thoughts reach out on habit for the Master's input, and she inhales sharply, pained, when she doesn't find it.

"When did you move to Gloucester?" she asks, forcing herself to worry about the problem she's closer to being able to solve.

"Hmm. Nineteen ninety-nine," Ruth replies, head tilting slightly in thought. "Mid-December." She glances over at the Doctor and her eyes narrow. "Are you testing me?"

"Yes." There's no point in lying.

Ruth sighs, looks back at the road. "Don't know why I'm even trusting you."

And she doesn't know why she cares so much, but here they both are. In a car heading to a lighthouse soaked in memories that aren't real.

"I've got one of those faces," the Doctor says. "I promise you, I'm your best hope of finding out who you are and staying alive."

She starts to turn away, to look out the window, but Ruth suddenly stiffens, eyes fluttering shut before snapping wide open again. The same look she'd had in the cathedral, twice over.

"Ruth." No reaction, so the Doctor tries again. "What are you seeing or hearing?"

"Nothing," Ruth says after a moment. Another effortless lie. "We're nearly there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter was probably one of my favorites so far to write, and since I'll have off school the rest of the week, yall might be getting it on Friday!


	39. Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus chapter today, because I can! A little shorter than usual, but it's all very important. Because of posting today, the next chapter will be up on Sunday instead of Saturday this week, but after that it's back to our regularly scheduled updates. Enjoy!

The lighthouse is beautiful, in a serene way, standing out against the rolling green fields and peaceful waters that surround it. It's in good condition, the white walls neat and clean as if someone's been caring for it, even after twenty years. It's one of those places with a historic presence to it, where it wouldn't feel unreasonable to meet a ghost or find a letter from someone long dead that happens to share a name with you. The Doctor only wishes she could appreciate it more; on any other day, under any other circumstance, she would love this. As it is, she's anxious and off-balance, unable to properly enjoy the beauty of the place.

Ruth parks her car on the sandy soil that quickly changes to treacherous rocks as it gets closer to the water. She doesn't waste any time getting out and heading for the door, and the Doctor is quick to follow. Her head swims slightly as she stands, and she tightens her grip on the door handle for a moment and tries to get it under control.

The key to the lighthouse hangs from Ruth's key ring, jangling as she unlocks the weathered door. It opens silently, a weight behind it that makes the Doctor shiver slightly as she steps over the threshold, inside the dim building.

Remnants of life clutter the place, not even packed up in boxes but left sitting around, as if the occupants were due home any moment. Bits and pieces of normal, human lives that the Doctor  _ knows _ couldn't have happened. She runs her hand over a wicker basket full of old clothes, and wonders who truly left them.

Ruth closes the door behind her with a heavy  _ thump _ and a nostalgic sigh. "That smell. Home."

The Doctor turns, watching as the woman looks around with familiar fondness.

"I'd forgotten what it feels like to come back here," she continues. "Like nothing can touch me."

An interesting turn of phrase, given everything.

"Mind if I take a look around?" the Doctor asks.

For a long, tense moment, she expects Ruth to say no from the way her face tightens. Then…

"Sure," she says. "I'll get a fire going."

Despite that, she's slow to leave the room, lingering like she expects the Doctor to do something. After a few seconds of silence, though, Ruth goes elsewhere, and the Doctor starts to walk up the stairs.

The top of the lighthouse is just as abandoned as the rest, but it's here that she feels the most history. The yellowed light, half covered by a tarp, the cardboard boxes full of old papers, the very air itself stiff with decades of lives spent in this one small room.

She steps out onto the balcony, the cold air pulling at her hair and coat and smelling of salt. Birds call, the few that had been perched on the railing startling when she rests her hands on it as another wave of dizziness hits her. Up here, it's hard not to feel overwhelmingly lonely. There's no one else for as far as she can see - only gently crashing waves one way, verdant fields and trees the other. More than anything, she misses having a hand to hold, having another set of eyes to share this sight with.

When Ruth had driven past, the Doctor had noticed the gravestone, but she hadn't had time to look at it in earnest. From here, she can see that the rock is uncarved, unmarked; just smooth stone, completely blank.

That's… not right. Even for a pair of people who never existed, there should be names, dates,  _ something _ on the marker. There's something wrong with that gravestone.

Propelled by a sudden urgency that she can't quite explain, the Doctor hurries back down the stairs of the lighthouse, out onto the grass, down the short stretch of road to the place where Ruth's parents are supposedly buried. The wind is picking up, pulling her coat around her ankles as she stands, stares at the grey stone. There's a storm coming, building fast, and she can taste it in the salty air as it pushes her hair into her eyes.

"Why have a blank gravestone?" she mutters, though not to anyone who can hear.

The Doctor pulls her sonic from a pocket, scans the earth where bodies should lie, if this were truly a grave. She expects to find nothing but dirt, but the results insist that there is something beneath the surface. Something alien, something from home.

"Because it's not a grave."

Ruth lights the fire, but there's still a chill permeating the lighthouse, even as the flames lick across old coals. From the way the clouds had gathered in the sky on the drive over, there's going to be a storm soon. She doesn't exactly relish the thought of being stuck in her childhood home with a complete stranger who seems convinced that she isn't who she says she is, but it's looking like that's what's going to happen.

Footsteps pound down the stairs, and then the door is slammed shut. Ruth looks up, but she can't see anything out the window. She shakes her head; if that strange woman wants to run outside on the brink of a thunderstorm, that's not her problem.

Her eye catches on the old fire alarm on the wall. It had been there when she grew up - she remembers nearly setting it off once, when she'd been playing. It's still in one piece after all these years, the circle of glass whole despite the message helpfully printed on it.  _ Break Glass. _

Follow the light. Break the glass. Lee's last words to her, depending on how she considers it.

Ruth takes a step closer, then another, resting her hand on the wall next to the fire alarm. She's suddenly dizzy, head spinning like it had in the cathedral when she'd first read that text message.

She hears whispers, voices that aren't familiar but are so clearly her own, filling the air like smoke, like the clouds gathering outside.

_ Break the glass, break the glass, follow the light and break the glass. Set yourself free. Open the watch, press the button, break the glass. You need a Doctor. _

Before she even realizes what she's doing, Ruth slams her elbow into the glass, and it shatters into molten gold. It rushes towards her, flooding into her skin, her mouth, her eyes, her  _ brain. _ Burning through her, rewriting her memories, replacing them with new ones that aren't new at all, filling her up with life and Time and a name, a name that she knows is hers more than "Ruth" ever was.

The Doctor managed to find a spade in the shed, and though it's slow going, she's made a dent in the earth. Beside her sits a pile of upturned dirt, and she can  _ feel _ that she's getting closer to whatever lies beneath. Though her hands tremble every time she loosens her grip even minutely on the handle, though her legs are shaky, she's determined to find out what's really in this grave. She's determined to dig it up.

A drop of rain lands on her white-knuckled hand as she plunges the spade into the ground. After a moment, another, then another, then it becomes a proper downpour. Her hair soaks through in seconds, her coat is getting damp, but the Doctor doesn't stop digging. She  _ needs _ to know.

Lightning arcs through the sky above her, illuminating the wet dirt as she desperately keeps shovelling it to the side. Thunder rolls, loud enough to shake the ground. Her shovel hits something solid, and she tosses it aside, kneeling in the hole she's dug to brush away what is quickly becoming mud with her bare hands.

Fingers brush over familiar blue wood, and the Doctor's hearts stop. Frantic, she keeps going, pushing the sticky mud off of a terrifyingly familiar shape. Away from the letters, still glowing faintly in the gloom of the storm, through the cold rain and the wind. Away from the light on top, flickering to life at her touch and casting a haunting glow over everything else.

This can't be right. This can't be  _ real. _ Her TARDIS is back in that little cafe, safe and intact. She doesn't remember any of this, she doesn't remember being here before or burying her ship, and she certainly doesn't remember Ruth. Why can't she-

"You're probably a bit confused right now."

The Doctor whirls, standing up on unsteady legs to see Ruth. Only it isn't Ruth, it  _ can't _ be Ruth, because Ruth doesn't carry herself with that kind of confidence, Ruth doesn't dress like that, and Ruth most certainly wasn't carrying that gun the last time the Doctor saw her

"I broke the glass," she explains, with a smile. "It's all come back to me."

Somewhat distantly, the Doctor's glad that she was right. More presently, she is  _ terrified _ of the implications of that. Whoever this Time Lord is, she has the Doctor's TARDIS buried in her front lawn and she's holding that gun like she knows how to use it. Neither of those are good, neither of those make any sense.

"This-" The Doctor points at the still-buried TARDIS, her hearts racing, her mind spiralling with panic and confusion. "What is this?"

"That's my ship."

No, no, no, that can't be. That's  _ her _ TARDIS, has always been her TARDIS, the old girl wouldn't just let someone else pilot her and she'd only gotten stuck as a police box  _ after _ the Doctor stole her.

"What?" the Doctor manages.

Ruth - not Ruth,  _ not Ruth, _ but she doesn't have another name for the Time Lord before her - sighs. Lightning crashes through the sky, illuminating her like a painting, like a statue, like a monument to a time forgotten.

"Let me take it from the top. Hello, I'm the Doctor."


	40. Two's Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not related to this fic, so feel free to skip this, but... By the time I post the next chapter of this fic, I'll be done with my NaNoWriMo project! It's another Spydoc fic called "Queen of Hearts", so if you're interested, keep an eye out for it!

The Master's restless hands are buried in the mess of wires and circuitry that comprises the main part of the dimensional scoop, almost done rigging up an override for the Judoon enforcement field, when a new and different alarm starts to go off. Lights beneath the controls turn bright, angry red, and the color only grates against his already fraying coherence.

"Ship's security is fighting back," Harkness groans, somewhere to the Master's left. "You've gotta be kidding me. Anti-theft attack system? Oh, well, now I'm offended. Look, guys, I'm sorry. I've gotta get out of here, I've got about a minute until the ship's nanogenes attack my body."

"What's going to happen to us?" Ryan demands.

"Will you be okay?" Grace asks.

"We'll all be fine," the Master snaps. "The scoop is fixed, and he's harder to kill than he looks."

It hits him, in the heartbeat following that statement before the gathered humans really have time to react, that he probably should have stopped after the first part of that sentence. When they turn to look at him, Harkness and the companions alike, it's nearly simultaneous.

Harkness is the first to speak, that slowly-building suspicion coming to a head. "How do you know that?"

"It's not exactly a secret," the Master says, lying effortlessly despite the way his hearts have sped up with something he refuses to call fear. "Anyone who's travelled in time long enough knows about you,  _ Captain. _ "

To his relief, that seems to be plausible enough, but Harkness still eyes him warily.

"Then you probably know what Cybermen are," he says, and it almost feels like a test. Seeing if the Master really is what he claims to be.

"You could say that."

From the way Harkness relaxes slightly, he passes.

"Tell the Doctor to beware the lone Cyberman," Harkness orders. "To not give it what it wants, at all costs. They've sent something back through time, across space, and the Cybermen  _ cannot _ get their hands on it. Not if humanity is going to have a future. Tell her-"

A flicker of blue light runs over his form, and then the human disappears mid-sentence. The Master hisses a frustrated breath through his teeth at the incomplete warning, but he can't help relaxing slightly at the relief from Harkness' presence. It's quickly overshadowed as the pain of loneliness hits his mind all the worse for his momentary lowering of shields, and he tenses again, hands balling into fists. The beating of his hearts sounds too much like a drumbeat without the Doctor, the edges of his thoughts are too sharp and jagged when he's alone in his head.

Yaz is the first to break the silence. "Are we stuck here now?"

"The scoop is already set to take us back," the Master says, testily. "Just give it a-"

Like ice being poured down his spine, the unnervingly cold feeling of a dimensional scoop washes over him, and he braces himself in case he miscalculated the distance from the ground. When the Master opens his eyes, he's standing in front of the building that had housed Ruth and Lee's flat, in nearly the same spot he had stood when he'd been taken. The humans are there as well, which he supposes is for the best, though he really cannot bring himself to care at the moment.

His mind reaches out for the Doctor's, desperately searching for her familiar, soothing presence. For the smallest sliver of a second, he finds it, and his knees go weak as he pours his entire mind behind the hasty grab for  _ contact. _ He needs her, he needs this to work, he doesn't think he can manage for much longer without her.

_ I'm the Doctor, _ the Time Lord that was once Ruth says, casual as anything, and the Doctor can't manage anything more than heartstopping  _ dread. _ She's done this before, met a self-who-was-not-herself, and a part of her almost hopes that's what this is, too, even though she knows it isn't. When she dares to reach out, to look at Ruth's - she refuses to call her anything else, not in her head - timeline, it's identical to her own. No splitting branches, nothing else that could indicate that they're anything but the same person.

Ruth must take her silence for confusion, because she continues. "I'm a traveller in space and time, and that thing buried down there is called a TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space."

She steps closer, grinning at the Doctor, and that deep, cold fear still refuses to fade. It's not the meeting of herself that does it, but the fact that she doesn't even remember being Ruth at all. None of the explanations for that are good.

"You're going to love this," Ruth promises, taking the Doctor's unmoving hand in hers.

There's something ironic about one of the few people whose touch she can tolerate being herself, the Doctor thinks distantly. It's no replacement for the comfort of the Master's hand in hers, but the muscle memory kicks in all the same, and her fingers tighten around Ruth's.

A short-range teleport - Gallifreyan, the Doctor realizes, from the lack of uncomfortable squishing - activates, and she suddenly finds herself in the dim, blue-lit console room of her TARDIS. Ruth's TARDIS, really; the layout is old, all empty space and roundel-covered white walls. Nostalgic, almost, if it weren't so wrong.

Ruth sets her gun down on the console and gives it a gentle pat. The TARDIS begins to hum to life, waking up after lying dormant for so long.

"Come on, old girl," she coaxes. "Too sleepy. Power up! I need you right now."

With a wobbly, somewhat reluctant whirr, the Time Rotor begins to light up, and the Doctor feels the familiar telepathic contact of the TARDIS brush against her mind. When the ship feels the presence of  _ her _ TARDIS, she backs off, but still leaves a curious tendril there. Wondering why two versions of her thief are together at once.

That's enough to bring the Doctor out of her stunned silence, bringing her back to - well, to herself.

"Hi. Struggling with this," she says. "Can you just-"

"No, I can't," Ruth replies. "Not right now. No  _ time. _ Just stand there, and don't ask questions."

If she were any less baffled by everything going on, the Doctor would probably be bristling with offense. As it is, she just gapes. Her hands are finally still with the shock of it all.

"Sorry you got caught up in all this," Ruth continues, as she fiddles with the console. "But if Gat is half the operative she used to be, she's already figured out where we are, and we need to be ready. And we're not."

"Stop. Who's Gat? And who're you? Really, truly." The answer to that second question  _ can't _ be what Ruth said it was, because it doesn't make any sense. None of this makes any sense.

"I told you, love, I'm the Doctor." Ruth finally looks up from the console, meeting her eyes. 

"You can't be!" she protests.

Ruth raises her eyebrows. "Yeah? And why's that?"

"Because  _ I'm _ the Doctor."

Instantly, Ruth's expression goes from one of brusque concern to thorough disdain. She looks at the Doctor properly, measuring her up against some unseen standard. If the dismay and resignation on her face is any indicator, she doesn't like what she sees.  


"You have  _ got _ to be kidding me," Ruth mutters. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" the Doctor snaps.

"Since when?"

"Since forever!"

"And how did I end up like  _ that? _ " Ruth points at the Doctor's clothes. "All… rainbows, and trousers that don't reach."

"What? No!" she protests. "How did I end up like  _ you? _ "

"You don't," Ruth replies. "You're in my future, not the other way 'round."

But she can't be. She would be remembering this by now, if that were true, and all her mind has to offer is surprise and a desperate wish that the Master were here.

"I've never been anything like you," the Doctor insists. "Trust me, I'd remember." And then, because that comment about her outfit was really uncalled for, she adds, "Especially that shirt."

"So would I, if I'd ever been you," Ruth says. "Which I haven't."

Both of them freeze, looking at each other. Logically,  _ one _ of them should remember being the other.

"That's not possible," the two Doctors say at once, pacing around the console. "Unless it is. But what would that mean? Doesn't make sense."

In perfect unison, they look up at each other. "Stop doing that!" It hits them at the same time, and they gasp. "Same brain."

The Doctor in the blue coat - and it's funny, she thinks, that this isn't the first time she's had to think of herself like that to keep things straight - backs away from the other Doctor, shaking her head.

"This doesn't make any sense. Either I should know you, or you should-"

She stops dead in her tracks when an achingly familiar mind brushes against hers, searching for contact. There's no hesitation in her reply.  _ "Contact." _

The Master's presence in her head is an immediate comfort, filling up those horribly empty spaces with something she hadn't known she needed so much until it was gone. The distant contact barely even compares to the intimacy of skin-to-skin telepathy, but after far too long of  _ nothing, _ it's bliss.

Words are too limited to capture the depth of relief that floods her, and the Doctor can feel his own tension unwind into comfort and the kind of exhaustion that only comes after an adrenaline rush. Despite the limitations of distance, the frayed edges of her mind start blurring into his, blending together at the very seams. For a moment, she just basks in that, in the soothing warmth of his mind and the  _ togetherness _ of it all.

Naturally, it couldn't last nearly long enough.

"What is going on?" the other Doctor demands.


	41. And Three's A Crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming up on the end of this arc! I think I'm going to take a little break once I wrap it up, because this is about the halfway point, and between this fic and NaNo last month, I'm kind of burnt out. So, this is probably the second or third-to-last chapter for a short while, but I plan to be posting again before Christmas.

The Doctor goes cold. Though her memories of meeting an alternate version of herself are hazy, tangled up in her most recent regeneration and the messiness of split timelines, she distinctly remembers there being consequences for telling that alternate self about the situation with the Master.

In the back of her mind, she feels concern prickle through their bond, and she sends back a reassurance that she's fine, just dealing with something. The Master only gets more suspicious, and she can't really blame him. With a quick promise to give him a proper explanation soon, the Doctor loosens her hold on their bond.

"What do you mean, what's going on?" she asks, deflecting and distracting. "I'd like to know too, honestly, but you haven't exactly been explaining. Who's this Gat person you keep talking about?"

The other Doctor levels her with a flat look. "I'll tell you, if you tell me why you just stopped mid-sentence back there. Looked like you were making contact with someone telepathically."

There's an unspoken accusation to that - the implication that maybe she's working with Gat somehow, that maybe she isn't really the Doctor.

"Yeah," the Doctor says. "I was making contact, and it's none of your business. It has nothing to do with this, I swear."

"And I'm just supposed to trust that?"

"I'm you!" she snaps. "Why would I be working with whoever you're hiding from if I'm  _ you? _ "

"Prove it," the other Doctor orders. "Prove that you're really me, and tell me who you were contacting."

The Doctor groans. She  _ hates _ arguing with herself. "Ask the TARDIS, she'll confirm that I'm the Doctor. And I'm not going to tell you, because it's  _ private. _ "

The lights of the console room flicker in confirmation before either Doctor can ask the ship to scan, and while it's something of a relief, it doesn't answer any of their many, many questions.

"Well, apparently you really are me, so it can't exactly be private, now can it?" the other Doctor says, just a little bit smug.

There's really no way to get out of answering, it seems; not if she wants to know more about what's going on. And she really,  _ really _ wants to know what's going on.

"The Master. I was contacting the Master."

That's one of the first things that's gotten a genuine reaction from the other Doctor, even more than the realization that they're the same person. Her eyes widen, somewhere between shock and quickly-suppressed hope, and her grip on the console tightens.

"Now, who's Gat? And why the laser rifle?" the Doctor asks, forcing the conversation back to where she wants it. If her other self has more questions, she's going to have to share some information of her own.

"I worked for her once," comes the reply, terse and sharp. "And the laser rifle was because I knew she would come after me some day. Why were you contacting  _ him? _ "

Lying feels fairly pointless right now, so she doesn't bother. "I was making sure he was okay. You've got a job?"

"Sort of," the other Doctor says. "Not one you can apply for, and not one you can ever leave. Believe me, I tried. Does that mean you two are travelling together, then?"

There's an edge to that question, bordering on desperation. Like she can't quite bear to hope for anything better than a no.

"Sort of," the Doctor answers, partially to be contrary but mostly in case her other self's corresponding version of the Master is meant to be dead. After all, it would hardly be the first time. She's about to ask another question when the TARDIS abruptly rocks to the side, juddering like she's in flight.

"The Judoon are back," both of them mutter at once. "With a tractor beam."

"Maybe if you hadn't torn off their captain's horn, this wouldn't be happening," the Doctor snipes.

That gets her a positively venomous glare in return. "It's not just them. It's Gat."

She feels the Master's mind spark with worry again, their bond dimming as the beam pulls the TARDIS further and further from Earth, and she tries to get across the idea that he needs to stay with her companions. The situation already seems tenuous, and as much as she wants to be near the Master again, she doesn't want him pouring fuel on the fire. It hurts, losing the connection so soon after reforming it, but it's not worth a paradox, or anything worse.

"Now, listen to me,  _ Doctor. _ Let me do the talking." The other Doctor grabs the laser rifle, turning it over in her hands. "Do not get involved. Because if you really are me, and Gat figures that, she'll kill us both."

With that, she steps out of the TARDIS, and the Doctor follows quickly behind her. Whether she'll actually listen, she isn't sure, but she'll stay quiet for now. At least until she figures out more of what's going on. She's careful to shut the door as she goes; against the right Gallifreyan technology, that won't mean much, but it's better than nothing.

The Judoon ship is dark, lit only by a few glowing symbols lining the walls. It looks like they're on the main deck, by the controls and screens against the far wall. Three figures are silhouetted against the lights of the monitors, two Judoon and one humanoid. Gat, if the Doctor had to guess. 

"Here we are then," she says, all prim upper-class Citadel accent. "End of the road."

She steps closer, away from the lights and into clearer view, and the Doctor is startled by how  _ young _ she looks; not just physically, but along her timeline. Only a century or two out of the Academy, if that. She's dressed in Prydonian red, hair pulled back, shoulders stiff under the robes she wears. Every bit traditional, except for the shorter collar. The Doctor tries not to think of the last time she'd been to Gallifrey.

"I thought I'd be angry when I saw you," Gat continues, coming even closer. "Turns out, I'm just sorry."

The other Doctor hoists the laser rifle up, aiming it at Gat. "Not as sorry as I'm about to be."

Glancing behind her, the Doctor sees another two Judoon. In the cathedral, with the element of surprise, Ruth - or whoever she had been in that moment - had been able to take down three of them. Here, even with the laser rifle, the Doctor doesn't think the same will hold.

"Ruth, put it down," she hisses.

Gat looks at her, appraising, as if she hadn't even noticed that there was another person there until she spoke. Typical Time Lord arrogance.

"Yes,  _ Ruth, _ " she echoes, taunting. "Do as your little friend says. You are surrounded, after all."

With a sigh, the other Doctor lowers the rifle and holds it out to Gat. When the young Time Lord reaches out to take it, the other doesn't let go for a moment. It's clear that, when Gat does take it, it's only because she's being  _ allowed _ to.

As soon as it's in her hands, Gat steps back and raises the rifle to aim at the fugitive Doctor. Though the Doctor can't see her face, she can imagine the roll of her other self's eyes fairly easily.

"Don't point that thing at me, Gat," she says.

"This is mine," Gat retorts. "You stole it."

"Mmm, confiscated," she corrects. "Now, really. Don't point it at me."

"Perfect for your execution."   


"I really wouldn't do that, Gat." The warning in her tone is sincere, sharp and terse.

"Enough, now," Gat sighs. "Let's get off this rust bucket and finish this on my ship."

Before the Doctor can ask what she means by "finish this", a familiar low, scraping groan fills the air. Her eyes widen, and she can feel her TARDIS -  _ her _ TARDIS - begin to materialize around her. She grabs her other self by the arm, tugging her closer despite her somewhat offended exclamation, and as the console room goes from illusion to reality, the blast of a laser rifle pierces the air.

All of that fades away, though, the second the Master pulls her into a hug that quickly becomes a desperate kiss. It's messy and unexpected, but the Doctor melts into it all the same, wrapping her arms around him and  _ begging _ to be let into his mind. He obliges immediately, and the sudden intensity of the mental contact makes her inhale sharply, eyes fluttering closed; she lets her grip on the physical world fade for a moment, her entire being narrowing down to their points of skin contact and the soothing darkness of his thoughts.

_ "You left me," _ she thinks, the words little more than a courtesy, packaging her desperate relief into something less intense.  _ "You're not allowed to leave me, Koschei." _

It wasn't his fault, she knows, and she doesn't blame him. She just wants it to  _ never _ happen again, because every time they get separated, something awful happens, and she can't lose him again. A deep, needy part of her wants to join them together permanently, right down to the molecules, so they  _ can't _ be separated.

_ "Wasn't trying to," _ he soothes. There's just as much need underlying his thoughts as hers, nudging hungrily at her mind.  _ "One of your old friends kidnapped me." _

A mental image of Jack pours into her thoughts, and her surprise flickers, bright yellow and smelling like smoke, across the dusky indigo of their shared mindspace.

_ "He wanted to warn you about a lone Cyberman," _ the Master continues, and his words are echoed by the memory of Jack saying the same.  _ "Not to give it what it wants." _

Dread, deep red and frigid, slips through her. Even one Cyberman can be deadly, and she's seen that firsthand time and time and endless time again. Unbidden, memories of Bill flash to the forefront of her mind, and each one makes her hearts ache.

The Master brushes them away, curls his presence more insistently around her memories until they fade enough not to hurt. His touch there is far more delicate than anything she could manage, and that thought prompts her to take a cautious, gentle look through his own memories again. His lack of reaction to her other self - who she can only assume was the trigger for the Matrix's block - has her curious. When she looks, she sees that everything around their visit to Gallifrey is under lock and key, partitioned off from the rest of his mind. Hardly the best solution to the problem, but it seems to be holding as long as he isn't looking directly at the other Doctor.

_ "When did you-" _ she starts to ask, only to let the thought trail off into emptiness when he fills in the answer for her; in the TARDIS, before coming to get her. Which explains the rather inelegant - for him - nature of the protection.

The Doctor can feel when he starts glancing at her more recent memories, catching himself up on everything that they'd missed while apart, and then the bright flash of  _ shockconcerndelight-haven't-we-done-this-already? _ as he realizes who Ruth is.

_ "Should probably deal with that," _ she thinks.  _ "There's still four Judoon and another Time Lord out there." _

His first reaction to that is to wrap even tighter around her memories, digging telepathic claws in - though they're gentle enough not to do much more than tickle strangely, it gets the point across. Then, slowly, a very slight tinge of flushed-pink embarrassment coloring the action that makes her sparkle with amusement, he lets go and loosens his hold on her memories. Together, their minds pull apart enough to retreat mostly back into their proper bodies. Blinking, disorientated, the Doctor sees her other self looking at them with disdain, though it's covering something almost like longing.

"If you two are done, I'd like some answers," the fugitive Doctor says, sharp.

"What a coincidence," she replies, with a brightness she doesn't at all feel. "I'd like some, too!"


	42. Nostalgia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been ready to write Ruth!Doctor and Dhawan!Master interacting for Months now and I'm so happy to finally bring this chapter to yall!

"You're the Master," the Doctor - the one the Master can't look at, can barely listen to without the Matrix's block pressing at his mind - says, as if making sure.

"Last I checked, yes," he replies cheerfully. "And you're the Doctor."

"And you and her are… travelling together." She sounds dubious. "Really?"

He nods, though since he's facing  _ his _ Doctor, he isn't sure how well the motion comes across. "Have been for a while, now. It's a long story."

"Why aren't you looking at me?" she asks.

"Can't. Whatever you're up to here, it's restricted access by our time. I did some poking around in the Matrix, presumably stumbled across it somehow, and got a lovely memory block in my mind for my trouble."

"Right, we've answered some of your questions, time to answer ours," his Doctor says, turning to face her other self. She always gets so  _ prickly _ around her other regenerations, and the Master can't help but find it a little endearing. "Why is Gat after you? Why don't I remember being you? Who are you working for?"

The Doctor sighs. "I told you, I worked for her. Past tense. She didn't much like that. If you don't remember, and it's restricted in the Matrix, then it was probably wiped from our memory once I… stopped being useful. But if you really want to know, they're called-"

Pain tears through his head even as she says the words, and his mind goes up in flames again. Somehow, it hurts worse than before, reopening the wounds that had just barely scabbed over. His Doctor's hands settle on his temples, and she soothes the pain as quickly as she can, brushing gentle tendrils of comfort over the agony. His breathing steadies, and he quickly puts the ramshackle defenses he'd rigged up back in place.

As soon as he's okay, his Doctor's hands leave his head, though one lingers and takes his hand, and she whirls to face the other.

"I think you should go," she snaps. "Now. I'll come with you, we can handle Gat, and then you can get in your TARDIS and leave."

"Won't need to worry about Gat," the Doctor says.

The Master can feel his Doctor's confusion prickle like a building sneeze in his own mind. "What do you mean?"

Though he can't see her expression, the Doctor's following silence is distinctly  _ guilty. _

"I sabotaged the laser rifle," she admits. "When she fired at us, it probably backfired and killed her."

"You let her take it on purpose." His Doctor's voice is cold, sharp.  


"And I  _ begged _ her not to fire!" she retorts. "Don't try to take the moral high ground with me!"

Oh, he  _ likes _ this one. That thought makes his Doctor squeeze his hand, more than a little jealous, and he points out how ridiculous she's being; he can't even  _ look _ at her younger self, and neither one of them intends to leave the other.

"The Judoon won't like that," his Doctor notes. "That's technically a crime."

"Not in interstellar space it isn't," the Master says. "And you'd just entered when I showed up. Judoonese Talwak freighter, going eighty million clicks an hour, we're well in the clear by now."

"Exactly," the Doctor agrees. "So, yes, I think I will be going now."

He hears footsteps starting towards the door, and the Master realizes that he doesn't quite want this Doctor to leave yet. She's… nostalgic, almost, reminding him of when the two of them had first started playing at rivalry, and something about her draws him in. The same holds true for every Doctor, every version of the person he loves, but this one is new, unfamiliar.

"Mind if I come with you?" he asks, and his Doctor's grip on his hand becomes  _ crushing. _ "Just for a quick chat."

"I don't think that's a good idea," both Doctors say in unison, and his scowls, presumably in mirror to her other self's expression.

Then her mind catches on the tail end of a half-formed thought, barely more than a flicker of observation, and she softens. It's still a sensitive topic for both of them, though for different reasons, but she suddenly seems to understand.

"Actually, maybe he's right." She looks pointedly at her other self. "We can go back to Earth and I can pick up my companions while you two have a talk."

He can hear the bafflement in the Doctor's voice when she says, "Fine."

A moment later, the doors of the TARDIS open and then shut gently, and the Master kisses his Doctor again. A shimmering fragment of amusement slides between them, and she thinks,  _ "' _ Your _ ' Doctor?" _ with a distinct fondness.

_ "Going to deny it?" _ he asks in reply, teasing.

She smiles against his lips.  _ "Nah. Just remember that you're mine, too." _

His hearts thrill at that, and he kisses her one more time - though, really, their earlier kiss hadn't so much ended as gotten gentler. Then, for the first time since he'd landed the TARDIS on the Judoon ship, the Master looks away from the Doctor. They need to pilot the TARDIS, after all, and he can hardly help while staring at her the whole time.

Still, the familiar dance and rush around the console feels so much more complete with the Doctor by his side. Piloting  _ her _ ship alone had been an unpleasant experience, lonely and strange after growing somewhat used to doing it with her instead.

When they land, the TARDIS settling with a wheeze and a  _ thump, _ the Doctor takes the Master's hand in hers before he can step outside. Obligingly, he turns to face her, staring into intense hazel eyes.

"Be careful with her- with me," she says. "The last time we…"

She trails off, but he knows what she means. Meeting an alternate version of the Doctor, while initially delightful, had been a messy ordeal. Whatever timeline she hailed from - so much emptier than their own, so much more painful - made her bitter and cruel, and she had aimed all of that straight at where he was most vulnerable. It had  _ hurt, _ but what made it worse was that she had meant it. He understands the Doctor's reluctance to let that happen again.

"I'll be fine, love," the Master promises. "Go fetch your humans. I'm sure me and other you can play nice until then."

Squeezing his hand again and sighing, she heads for the doors, and he follows soon behind. They're parked on the grass in front of a towering cathedral, and the other TARDIS isn't far away. The same mind thinks alike, even across centuries.

As the Doctor walks off in one direction, hands in her coat pockets, the Master saunters over to the other ship and knocks on it. Four times, of course, though he doubts the Doctor inside will understand the significance of that. Then, eyes shut, he waits for her to open the door.

"I'm a little confused," she says by way of greeting, and he can imagine the raised eyebrows. "You've got a memory block so bad you can't even look at me, but you want to have a chat one on one?"

He gives her a grin. "You didn't say no. And besides, love, I've never been able to stay away from you. May I come in?"

This Doctor keeps her telepathic field under tight lock and key, so he's flying completely blind as to her reaction to him, but he does hear her breath catch slightly in her throat. Not resigned to his habit of following her, then; surprised by it instead. Perhaps she's earlier on than he'd expected.

"Yeah, come on," she says, taking him by the arm. Careful to avoid skin contact, which is probably a wise choice, given everything.

She guides him into her TARDIS, which hums with curiosity at the back of his mind as he steps onto the smooth floor. The air is slightly cooler in this ship than in his Doctor's, closer to the norm for Gallifrey rather than a comfortable temperature for humans. Which, he supposes, makes sense if she's been working with home recently. Relatively speaking, of course.

Finally, she lets go, and the Master reaches back, finds that he's up against a wall, and leans into it. "So. Where are you in your timeline? When did you last see me?"

Silence, and an extremely awkward one at that, follows. He hears footsteps - she's pacing. Then they come to a stop, further away from him. The opposite side of the console, if he had to guess.

"I ran away from home," the Doctor admits. "You're still there, for my time, but… you hate me."

He knows precisely when she's talking about. After the Academy, the two of them never really went their separate ways; Theta had gone into temporal mechanics, and Koschei had begun the slow and steady crawl up the Gallifreyan social ladder, but they were still  _ close.  _ Improperly so, honestly, and it had never done him much credit in the veritable snake pit of politics. But that hadn't stopped them. And then, one day, without warning, Theta had stolen a TARDIS - and his granddaughter, technically - and disappeared. Koschei had waited, and waited, and waited for him to come back, concern turning to fear turning to bitterness over the long years. When he finally took off after Theta, centuries had passed for him.

"I never hated you," he says softly. "I missed you, but I never hated you, Doctor."

More silence, stretching until it feels brittle, ready to snap. The Master isn't the one to break it.

"Why are you talking to me?" the Doctor asks. "Really. Because I know it isn't to talk about your past."

"You know how it feels." He runs a hand through his hair. "Being human. And seeing as I've had a rather recent experience with the same, I thought we could swap stories."

It's not quite the truth, and he knows that he's slipping into deflection the same way that his Doctor tends to, but he can't quite manage to say, "Because as much as I love my Doctor, she doesn't remember how it feels and I think I'm going to go mad if I don't say something to someone about it."

But, then, the Doctor's always known how to read between the lines with him. Footsteps move around the console, closer to him, and her hand settles on his arm. Still not touching anything more than cloth, but it's a reassurance either way.

"Alright then," she says, and the Master can hear her smiling even if he can't see it. "Let's talk."


	43. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end of the Fugitive arc! As I mentioned a few chapters ago, I'm going to be taking a break for about two weeks to work on other projects and plan out where I want to go with things. The next chapter should be up on either the 19th or the 23rd. In the mean time, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

"It happened by accident," the Master says, with a slight, bitter laugh. "I didn't even get a say in it. Just touched the wrong bit of wall, and hey presto! I'm stuck as a human for seven months."

"Twenty years," the Doctor retorts. "Hiding from murderous Time Lords, mind you."

He waves a hand vaguely, hoping that he doesn't accidentally hit her. "You got a choice. And an idea of what was coming."

"And that makes it better?" she asks, light sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "It wasn't much of a choice for me."

"Never said that it was  _ better. _ But there's a difference between going to your execution with dignity and getting your throat slit in the middle of the night."

The Doctor chuckles, and the Master grins. Even separated by centuries, he still knows her well enough to pull her sense of dark humor out of hiding. She reminds him of the first Doctor he'd truly fought with, trapped on Earth with all the dignity and bluster - and oh, there's an idea, perhaps she's his predecessor - but beneath it all, she's still his Theta.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" she says softly. "Being brought back. Feeling who you thought you were dying, getting everything else put back in."

"Yeah." He shakes his head, a sardonic grin on his lips. "That was an accident for me, too. Didn't even do it right. I was- well. It was unpleasant."

The details of O's - not death, because he wasn't ever truly  _ alive, _ but  _ undoing _ \- are still somewhat hazy in the Master's mind. Just like everything else about being O. But he does remember the pain, the burning of memories and emotions and Time flooding back and forcing the Kasaavin out.

"Like regeneration, but all wrong."

"Never thought of it like that," he admits. "But it is, isn't it? New person, new mind, new body, technically speaking."

"New memories, too," the Doctor sighs. "That's what hurt most for me. All those years rushing back." She goes quiet for a moment, then asks, "What were you like, as a human?"

His nose wrinkles. "Boring. Very, very boring. I named a stray cat after you, though. He's on the TARDIS now."

She laughs again, genuine and surprised and delighted. "And was I… did I keep an eye on you?"

"We lived together," he shrugs. "I pined, you tried to hide that you were mourning, it was a mess."

For how casually he says it, he'd almost think he has the Doctor convinced that it's really that easy to talk about. It isn't; it hurts to remember, and it hurts more to speak aloud, but with her it's less painful than it could be.

"I can tell," she says. Her voice is more serious, now. "You're as good as living in her-  _ my _ mind, aren't you?"

"It's complicated," the Master deflects, because it is.

"When you disappeared,  _ she _ was acting like she was going through withdrawal. Willing to bet you were, too."

He sighs. "Like I said. Complicated."

The Doctor hums, clearly dubious, but doesn't press the issue, which is more than he had honestly expected from her. After a moment of silence, he feels the weight of a hand on his arm, muted by fabric, though it's gentle and calming nonetheless. She may not be  _ his _ Doctor, but he still wishes he could touch her properly.

"So," he says, mostly to break the silence, "who was that human you were living with? He seemed awfully knowledgeable to be some random person, so either companion, or-"

"Don't." She cuts him off sharply. "Just… don't."

Raising his hands in a show of innocence, the Master doesn't. While the mystery of it bugs him, he's not going to ruin this moment by prying, no matter how badly curious he is. The pain in her voice is too raw, too  _ recent, _ for that to end in anything but an argument that he doesn't want to have. When they part, he wants it to be on good terms, if only for the Doctor's sake; she could have decades to go before she sees him again.

They stand there together, not saying a word, for a long time. Telepathy would be far too risky - the skin contact alone would probably be enough to break the already strained shields that he has in place - but he can rest the very edge of his mental presence against hers if he's careful. Her mind is well-protected, barricaded against everyone and everything, but the Master can feel her exhaustion under the surface. She needs this break just as badly as he'd needed someone to talk to.

What finally brings their hesitant, careful connection to an end is the press of his Doctor's mind against his, letting him know that she's back in her own ship, companions and all.

"Well, love, I believe it's time for me to go." The Master sighs, straightens from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "You'll see me soon enough, I'm sure."

"And how will that go over?" the Doctor asks, hiding genuine concern under a veneer of sarcasm.

"If I offer you a half-share of the universe, do actually think it over instead of refusing on principle," he replies, smiling slightly at the memories. "I meant it, every time."

"I'll consider it," she says, though they both know she won't.

Her hand gentle on his arm, she helps guide him toward the doors of her ship. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't trust them not to let him trip; with the Doctor, he follows blindly and without hesitation.

The door creaks open, and the Master can smell the fresh air of Gloucester, still sweet after the earlier rain. He opens his eyes, and blinks against the sudden brightness of everything. Despite the temptation to turn around, he settles for blowing the Doctor a kiss over his shoulder. Saying a true goodbye would feel more permanent than he thinks either of them want.

Then he steps out of the TARDIS, hearing the door click shut behind him and the start of a wheezing dematerialization as he heads for his Doctor's ship.

If someone were to ask, the Doctor wouldn't say that she's  _ pacing, _ per se. It certainly has the same restless energy, but she doesn't want to put her companions off, so instead of walking in circles around the console, she just shifts her weight from foot to foot anxiously, trying to find a way to answer their questions without scaring them off. Her hands are tight on the edge of the console, as the Master isn't quite there yet.

He doesn't knock before coming in, but the sound of his footsteps are an instant relief. The bittersweet contentment radiating from his thoughts is somewhat less so, but just being able to feel his mind is comforting enough that she doesn't care.

As soon as he's beside her, the Doctor takes his hand in hers, and finally turns to look at her humans.

"I know you have questions," she says, and she plans to say more, before Yaz cuts her off.

"What happened with the Skithra?"

Stars above, in the chaos of everything else that had happened since landing in Gloucester, she'd almost managed to push that to the back of her mind. Almost.

"We gave them a choice, and they decided not to take our help," the Master replies.

"That doesn't tell us much," Graham points out.

They're all too curious for their own good. The Doctor knew that when they decided to travel with the two of them, but sometimes she wishes they weren't.

She sighs. "We offered to help them repair their ship, and their queen turned it down. They weren't going to stop until we made them stop, so we…"

She trails off, hoping they won't push her to say what, exactly, they did. She isn't proud of it, doesn't want to say it out loud and make them realize how far she went, doesn't want to frighten them the same way she had Tesla. Doesn't want them to leave the same way he had, with fear and disgust.

"So you what, dear?" Grace asks, and those hopes are dashed.

"We sent their ship to the bottom of the ocean." The Doctor knows her voice is flat, sharp with pent-up guilt, but she doesn't care. "It'll rust there, undiscovered, for the rest of time. You lot never do completely map your waters."

The silence that falls after that is deafening. Judgemental. She hates it, can feel it like a physical thing weighing on her shoulders and making her want to  _ leave. _ But she can't do that to them, she owes them this much. Her hand tightens around the Master's and she is so very grateful for his presence.

"What about Ruth?" asks Ryan, after far too long a moment. "What happened to her?"

"Yeah, who was the fugitive?" Yaz adds.

Another topic she'd rather avoid. But at least they haven't asked to be taken home yet, haven't said that they hate her.

"Ruth was the fugitive," she says. "And me. We're the same person, apparently."

Graham looks incredulous. "What?"

"She's the Doctor's past," the Master explains. She glances over at him, surprised that he's actually taking part in the conversation when she knows he hates this sort of thing more than she does. "Different body, same person."

"But I don't remember being her." The Doctor presses her lips together in a frown. "Time's all in flux right now. There's something coming. Something bad. And I think Ruth is just the start of it."

"Worse than the lone Cyberman Captain Jack was talking about?" Graham asks. "'Cause that sounded pretty bad."

Yaz perks up at that, looking at the Master. "You knew him somehow, didn't you? Why did you lie?"

That's certainly news to her. Though she knew they'd met, she had assumed that- well, honestly, in the haze of relief from being back with the Master, she hadn't even questioned how his meeting with Jack had gone over. Eyebrow raised, the Doctor looks at him sidelong, awaiting his reply.

"I'm rather fond of this body, and didn't want to deal with being murdered, probably repeatedly," he drawls. "The Captain has good reason to want revenge, but I'm not going to let him kill me."

"Is there anyone you know that doesn't want to kill you?" Ryan mutters.

The Master actually laughs at that, and some of the uncomfortable tension in the console room lets up. It's not gone, but it's more bearable. The Doctor can't help but smile.

"No, can't think of any." His voice is light and cheerful, utterly at odds with the topic of conversation.

Yaz muffles a snort, and that seems to be the last straw for all the worry and guilt to tip over into proper amusement. For a moment, the six of them are just laughing, and it almost feels peaceful, the camaraderie of it all. Opening up had been rough, but somehow, the Doctor doesn't regret it nearly as much as she'd expected to. Her companions don't want to leave, they don't hate her. It feels like the first time in a long time when they've truly felt like friends. It feels… nice.


	44. Favorite Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I should be sticking to the twice a week update schedule again, at least for a while. And now - enjoy some totally innocent and well-earned fluff! :)

The Doctor wakes up slowly, lazily, and somewhat reluctantly. When she has the Master curled up against her side, hearts beating in the steady rhythm of sleep and arms holding her close, why would she  _ want _ to get out of bed? It would be much easier to just snuggle closer, press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, and fall back asleep.

It's not as though she has anything else to do, after all. Her companions are back in Sheffield, at least for the moment, and there isn't anything world-ending or otherwise urgent demanding her attention. She can just relax, safe and calm in her TARDIS with the person she loves dozing next to her.

But not even that deep urge to let go, to let herself fall into a drowsy kind of comfort, is stronger than the hunger gnawing at her stomach, unfortunately. So, despite her reluctance, the Doctor pulls herself out of bed. The Master makes a sleepy grab for her arm as she moves away from him, the first threads of awareness beginning to weave into consciousness.

By the time she's properly dressed, he's fully awake and sitting up in their bed, though his eyes are still bleary and his hair is all messy. She can't help but find it adorable.

"Where're you going?" he asks, voice rough around the edges.

"I'm starving," she replies. "Don't think I've eaten since… too long. Going to make something, not sure what yet."

He hums, starting to climb out of bed to get dressed as well. She waits for him - there's hardly any rush.

They end up in one of the smaller kitchens, which has a rather endearing reptile theme. The Doctor doesn't remember when it popped up in the TARDIS, but it's definitely one of her favorites; only partially because the compact space means that she and the Master stay within easy touching distance at pretty much all times. The lizard-shaped pancake mold that only appears in this kitchen is also a pretty large part of it.

Breakfast, or what passes for it in a ship with no concept of 'morning', is cinnamon-sugar bagels smothered in butter, eaten while sitting on the countertop. The Master gets some butter on his nose, which the Doctor is more than happy to lick off. That quickly devolves into kissing, and they waste quite a bit of time like that.

It's perfect, the Doctor thinks. Being able to just bask in the Master's presence without something horrible happening, sharing sugar-sticky kisses and comfort. She could probably stay like this forever.

Well. Not  _ forever, _ because they would both get bored of it without something else to do, but a very, very long time. If her whole life was just this, regularly interspersed with adventures to keep things exciting, she could probably manage eternity that way.

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, one of the TARDIS' alarms begins to go off. Not one of the particularly worrying ones, but one that signals that an urgent message has been received, and that she should probably go answer it.

With a sigh, the Doctor hops down off the counter, taking the Master's hand in hers, and heads for the console room to figure out what's wrong. All it takes is one look at the screen to have her frowning.

"A request for help from a human colony moon," she mutters. "That's interesting."

"I'm sure you want to check it out," the Master says, a fond smile on his lips.

Grinning, she turns to him. "'Course I do! The TARDIS wouldn't be showing me this if they didn't-"

Her sentence is cut off halfway through as pain tears through her mind for a split second, making her vision double strangely. There's a moment when she sees both the console room of the TARDIS and what looks almost like a hotel room covered in cobwebs, overlapping each other and making her head spin. Then the vision is gone, so quickly she almost thinks that she imagined it.

"-need help," she finishes, somewhat unsteady. Blinking firmly, she sees only the console room, only the Master's slightly concerned expression. She shakes her head, frowning. "Sorry, went a bit wonky there. Like I was saying, their message would only be here if they really needed us. And I can't say no to a good rescue mission, you know that!"

He shakes his head, laughing. "That I do, love."

Smile newly in place, the Doctor begins moving around the console, sending the ship to the coordinates of the cry for help. The Master moves smoothly alongside her in perfect harmony, like the second half of a whole.

As the TARDIS materializes on Kephlan-B-3, the Doctor checks that she has everything she usually takes for an adventure - her sonic, her psychic paper, a wide variety of other miscellaneous stuff filling her nearly boundless coat pockets. Or- no, no, of course she put her coat on when she got dressed earlier. She's wearing it now, so she must have put it on before. Why wouldn't she? It's habit, not anything she needs to think twice about; it's only natural that she wouldn't specifically remember doing it today.

Shaking her head again, hoping to clear the odd thoughts away, she steps out of the doors hand in hand with the Master. Kephlan-B-3 is new to her, since the small moon orbiting Kephlan-B is just as unremarkable as its planet. Humans spread there not more than a century before when they've landed, and took to the Earth-like atmosphere easily. From what little she remembers, the whole affair was seamless. Apparently, though, that wasn't truly the case.

Outside the TARDIS lies a field of tall grass, golden in the light of the sun and seemingly endless. Wherever the emergency is, they've landed nowhere near it.

"Fancy a walk?" the Doctor asks.

It takes quite a bit of wandering through the grass to find something resembling a human settlement, but the Doctor hardly minds. Hip-high grass, the Master's hand in hers, sunlight warming her skin - it's all nostalgic, bringing back memories of their childhood. She can almost pretend that the songbirds she hears are from Gallifrey and not brought over from Earth.

The settlement, when they do find it, is much smaller and more ramshackle than she would have expected; only a few small wooden buildings, with several colorful tents put up to presumably serve as housing. It almost looks abandoned, for how empty it is.

"This isn't the base colony," the Doctor mutters. "No greenhouse, no ship… Why would they start another colony this soon?"

"Internal drama, natural disaster, horrible monster forced them to leave." The Master shrugs. "Take your pick of one or more."

"Internal drama's hardly a reason to call for help, though," she says. "And if there was a natural disaster, surely we'd be seeing evidence of it by now. Something's got everyone scared and hiding…"

She leaves the conclusion to that unspoken and starts towards the nearest tent. Pushing the blue fabric aside, she starts to step inside, only to find herself at gunpoint. A terrified-looking human stares, wide-eyed, at her.

"Who are you?" he demands. "What are you doing here?"

The Master tenses, and the Doctor sees him reach for his sonic. Placating, she puts her hands up in the air and shoots him a glance, a quick warning not to make them seem more threatening.

"I'm the Doctor, and this is the Master. We caught your distress signal," she explains. "Thought we'd see if we could help."

The man's eyes narrow, but he lowers his weapon. "Come in, quickly."

After raising her eyebrows and shrugging at the Master, the Doctor ducks fully inside the tent. It's big enough to fit the three of them easily, and from the bedrolls, cans of food, and lights, it's been serving as a house for quite some time. She sits down on the tarp-covered floor, and the Master is right next to her, shoulder brushing hers.

"So, what's the matter?" Leaning forward, she looks at the man. Intent, but not intimidating. "All we got was a request for help, no details."

Across from her, he sighs. He still hasn't put the gun down, but at least he isn't pointing it at either of them.

"Two months ago, our settlement was attacked by some sort of wild animal. There were a lot of casualties, and we had to leave immediately. We rebuilt here, but it's only a matter of time until it comes back to finish us off."

The Doctor tilts her head. "And what  _ exactly _ attacked you?"

"I don't know," the man says. "I never saw it. It snuck into the buildings and tore people apart, and I was woken up by the screaming."

"But you're hiding in your tents instead of doing something?" The Master casts a disdainful eye on the gun still tightly held in the man's hands. "You're clearly well-armed."

"Our weapons can't hurt it. Some of us tried, and…" He trails off, looking down at the floor, then shakes his head. "We thought staying quiet might at least let us last until someone came to rescue us. That's what you're here for, right?"

The Doctor and the Master share a look. Kephlan-B-3's colonization is hardly a fixed point, and simply getting the colonists off the planet won't exactly break Time, but surely they can try to take care of the monster first.

"Are there any of you who have seen the animal?" she asks. "I think we might go have a chat."

"Try the red tent. You might find what you're looking for there." The man meets her eyes, serious. "But I'd be careful if I were you - Markelli is even more trigger happy than I am."


	45. Your Best Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Nice, safe, perfectly normal fluff. No angst here, folks :)

The Master wakes to the gentle puffs of the Doctor's breath against his neck, slow and steady but unmistakably awake. As soon as he blinks his eyes open, he feels her shift behind him, arms moving and legs stretching away from where they had been tangled with his own.

"Was wondering when you'd wake up," she murmurs.

He's more than a little surprised that she actually waited, instead of getting up and starting on some project of hers without him. It would hardly be the first time, after all. Sharing a bed is all well and good when your partner is willing to stay put in the morning, but the Doctor's never been the type; the Master learned to accept that fairly quickly.

"What for?"

"Thought we'd go somewhere today," she says, and he can feel her smile even though he can't see. "Just the two of us."

Of course it would be - they'd dropped the humans off in Sheffield after… He frowns. After something, surely, but he can't think of  _ what. _ That's worrying.

But the Doctor wants a trip, just the two of them, and he can hardly say no to her, especially not when she's pressed all warm and affectionate against his back. Warmer than she should be, he thinks for a moment, but when he focuses on it, her temperature is perfectly normal. A trick of his mind and the heat of the blankets covering them, that's all it must have been.

"Sounds fun," he says, trying to push the strangeness to the back of his mind. "Breakfast first, though, dear?"

She nods, and when he rolls over to face her, she plants a quick kiss on his lips. The Master smiles; she must be feeling affectionate today. That's always a good sign.

The kiss deepens, her hand coming up to curl in his hair as she pulls him closer. Mentally, the Master amends his previous thought to ' _ very _ affectionate'.

"Love you," the Doctor whispers, so close her lips move against his as she says the words.

The Master's mind briefly stops functioning. She rarely ever says that out loud, and  _ never _ just out of the blue like this. Part of him almost wants to be suspicious, wondering what prompted such a change. The rest of him melts into her embrace and doesn't look the gift horse in the mouth.

"And I love you," he says softly. "My Theta."

She smiles. "My Koschei."

Oh, the things hearing her say that does to him. He knows - has always known, really - that they are irrevocably each other's, but it's nice to hear the Doctor say it aloud. Comforting, to be reminded that she knows it too.

When she pulls him closer for another kiss, he goes all too willingly.

They eat quickly, the Master too eager to see what surprise trip the Doctor has planned to bother with anything over-the-top. When they finish and she drags him along by the hand to the console room, his curiosity is starting to get the better of him. Whatever she has planned, he's sure it'll be wonderful, but he can't help but want to pry.

More to mess with her than because he wants to spoil the surprise, he reaches out for her mind. Before he even brushes against the outer layer of boundaries - and when had those gone back up? - he feels something  _ wrong. _ The Doctor's mind is chaotic, fluid, constantly changing and shifting while staying within the same familiar shape, and he knows it better than anything else in the universe. The mind that he finds himself reaching out towards is  _ nothing _ like that; ordered and strangely warm, almost  _ sticky _ to the feelers he sends out.

The Master recoils instantly, dropping the hand in his, backing away from the thing masquerading as the Doctor, filled with horror and rage. With one hand, he grabs for his sonic pen, while he wipes the other off on his trousers as though he'd touched something foul.

"Who are you, and what have you done to the Doctor?" he snarls.

Frowning, the thing meets his eyes. Its own are hazel, just like the Doctor's, but they're flat like a photograph of the real thing, dead behind a pretense of life.

"What do you mean, Koschei?" it asks, sounding disgustingly sincere and worried.

"Do  _ not _ call me that." He brandishes the sonic at it, furious. "Tell me what you did to her,  _ now, _ or I find out what you are in the most painful way I can think of. Believe me, I can get  _ very _ creative."

It blinks, face settling into a cruel imitation of concern. "Are you feeling alright? Why don't we go to the medbay, and I can-"

He fires. It's not even a conscious action, really - his finger tightens on the trigger for one of the more painful settings without his permission, and he waits for the horrid thing to collapse in pain. Nothing happens. The Master tries again, and when it still doesn't work, the dread begins to set in, only to be smothered by more anger.

"Where am I?" he demands. "What is this place?"

"You're in the TARDIS," the imposter insists. "Really, are you okay?"

When it steps closer, he steps back. They repeat the dance two more times before his back hits the wall of the corridor, nowhere further to go. His skin itches even before the thing touches him, and it's too warm when it does, brushing one hand across his face in a mockery of the Doctor's affection. He's quick to slap the offending limb away, but it doesn't make the sick feeling in his gut lessen any.

"Whatever this place is, if you don't let me out, I will-"

The Master wakes to the gentle puffs of the Doctor's breath against his neck, slow and steady but unmistakably awake. As soon as he blinks his eyes open, he feels her shift behind him, arms moving and legs stretching away from where they had been tangled with his own.

"Was wondering when you'd wake up," she murmurs.

He's more than a little surprised that she actually waited, instead of-

This is wrong. This is all wrong. A tiny, distant part of his mind  _ screams, _ insists that this isn't the Doctor, and the Master flinches away from her grasp on instinct, nearly falling out of the bed as he does. Hazel eyes meet his own, narrowed with worry, but the emotion is only surface-level. A thin veil covering the lifelessness beneath.

Memories come flooding back. This thing has him trapped, clearly in a world of its own making if it can manipulate it all so easily, and if it can tamper with his memories, then it's probably in his brain, too. But it's not nearly as good as it thinks it is - he remembered fairly quickly. Maybe he can break loose.

The imposter's too-warm hand clamps down on his wrist, and the clinging impersonality of its mind pushes at his defences. He throws up more walls, hasty but strong enough to keep it firmly out. Then, fury and concern for the Doctor driving him to recklessness, the Master pushes back.

It's hard, fighting against the stickiness that makes his thoughts want to clump together, coating them with false happiness and comfort. Like pushing through syrup with his mind. He grits his teeth, bracing, and-

And then, all at once, the illusion of the TARDIS collapses, and the Master's head swims for a moment as his center of gravity reorients itself to his state of laying down. He's in a bed, though not any bed in the TARDIS. The ship would never allow one of her rooms to become so dusty and disgusting, covered in cobwebs and grey with years of disuse.

The first thing that he does is prod at his mind, searching for any trace of that syrupy presence that might be lingering, but he doesn't find any. The next thing is grasping, panicked, at his bond with the Doctor, desperate to find her.

Her mind is muted when he does manage to find a thread of their connection, covered in that same clinging, clogging happiness. From so far away - stars, he can't even tell if she's near him or not like this - the Master can't do much, but the knowledge that she is, at least, alive and not actively harmed is enough to slow the frantic race of his pulses.

He stands, still a little disorientated, and makes his way to the door of the mysterious room. As he does, he nearly trips over a bag on the floor.  _ His _ bag on the floor; it's unzipped enough that he can see the dimensionally transcendent interior full of his own clothing.

Why is  _ that _ here?

The trip. Graham had found coupons for a free trip to a luxury planet, and after the stress of everything, the humans had practically jumped at the chance to relax. And, more privately, the Doctor had been eager to take a break from the chaos of saving the world to just spend some time together.

From the minute they'd landed on the planet, the Master had thought that something was off, but he had just chalked it up to how often attempts at relaxation usually went awry for him and the Doctor. The clerk had taken their coupons, told them to check in to their individual rooms before anything else, and given them each a key. And, strangely, they'd all listened, heading straight for the separate rooms. The Doctor to hers, the Master to his, the humans each to their own.

After that… the illusory TARDIS, the dead-eyed imitation of the Doctor trying to- what? Why do any of this? If the goal of this place is to kill them, why try so hard to trap him in an illusion of comfort and safety?

The Master exhales sharply through his nose, runs a hand through his hair. He can worry about all of this once he finds the Doctor, once he has her to bounce ideas off of. Once he can stop worrying about her.

Carefully, in case the door is trapped or otherwise unsafe, he turns the handle. The sight that greets him is a bleak one; a long corridor, just as grey and dull as the room he came from, the metal numbers on the identical doors tarnished and dark. He seems to be standing somewhere in the mid-300s, though he could have sworn his original room number wasn't. But the halls hadn't looked nearly as neglected as they do now before, so perhaps the room numbers were part of whatever illusion layers over this place - this entire planet, more than likely.

Undeterred, the Master opens the room next to his, hoping the Doctor will be there. Instead, he sees a somewhat amphibious creature, and quickly closes the door again. He tries the next door, finding it empty. The next - a Trell. The next after that - empty.

If he could just remember the Doctor's room number, perhaps it would be easier to find her. Even as he wracks his brains, though, the Master can't recall what room the Doctor was meant to be in. He keeps trying the doors.


	46. Rocky Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry (slightly late) Christmas to anyone who celebrates!  
> Also, if you're interested in requesting a short ficlet from me, hit me up on Tumblr! https://raindropsonwhiskers.tumblr.com/post/638519451774533632/im-now-taking-ficlet-requests

He spends more than an hour wandering the hall, opening every door he comes across in hopes of finding the Doctor. Though almost every one seems to hold an unconscious creature - some humanoid, some most certainly  _ not _ \- the Master has no luck finding her, or even one of their companions. He hasn't even found an end to the corridor yet.

Throughout it all, the sticky mental presence keeps trying to get past his walls again, but he's far more prepared to defend his mind than it seems ready for. Every attempted infiltration is soundly thwarted, but the maintained state of high alert adds a constant, low grade telepathic headache to the Master's list of grievances.

If he could just find the source of the psychic energy, or the Doctor, or some place on this cursed planet that  _ isn't _ a dirty imitation of a cheap motel, then he would at least be able to do something with the fury simmering in his hearts. As it is, he's forced to resort to just slamming the doors open and shut with vitriol. It doesn't disturb the people inside from their disgustingly blissful nightmares either way.

Even if he wanted to bother setting the occupants free from the illusory paradise they're all trapped in, it's not worth the effort for the few whose minds are still functional enough to salvage. Without proper shielding, they would just succumb to it again the moment he let them go. In a very Doctor-esque leap of logic, the Master figures that the only way to undo the illusion entirely is to take it out at the source, which is looking more and more like his only option.

After he finds the Doctor. All that can wait until  _ after _ he finds the Doctor. She is, as always, his first priority.

Getting her loose from the psychic trap of this place will be easier than it would be for a human, but keeping her out of it might still prove tricky. Her telepathy has never been particularly strong, and though her shields are good enough to keep out most low-grade psychic attacks, they probably won't hold up to this endless, grating assault.

Not that it'll matter if he can't find her in the first place. For every ten doors the Master checks, there seem to be a hundred more; as far as he knows, this place could span the entire planet. By the time he does find her, it might be too late, the psychic hooks in too deep to safely remove. The idea makes his stomach churn, but it's a distinct possibility. Too long spent in a constant state of artificial happiness would rot any mind.

The Master throws another door open, the thin metal crashing against the wall, and is already halfway to closing it again when he sees a familiar face. Not the Doctor - of course he isn't that lucky - but Yaz.

He's almost tempted to close the door again, make a note of the number, and keep going. But if the Doctor knew that he found one of their humans and didn't even try to help, she would be furious. Or worse, resigned. With a sigh, he steps into the room.

In terms of risk, going rock climbing doesn't really compare to outrunning giant scorpion aliens or overthrowing a corrupt tyrant. Yaz doesn't particularly mind, though, because going rock climbing with Kira is  _ wonderful, _ even if it isn't as exciting as it could be. 

Persuading the Doctor to take the two of them to an alien planet and convincing Kira to come had taken a little while, but Yaz is glad she did. It makes a pretty good anniversary present, if she says so herself. And, now that they're at the top of the towering mountain, they can sit and appreciate the beautiful sunset.

Kira leans against Yaz's side, resting her head on her shoulder, and their hands are linked between them. As the two brilliant orange suns begin to sink below the jagged horizon, Yaz almost wishes she could take a picture without ruining the moment. It's nice, a peaceful happiness that borders on perfection.

"This is wonderful," Kira says softly. "Thank you, Yaz."

Yaz turns to reply - to thank Kira for coming, or for being the best girlfriend imaginable - when a dull, aching pain shoots through her head and everything goes grey. As she blinks her eyes open, her surroundings are still mostly grey, except for a rather aggressively purple blob in front of her that quickly resolves itself into the Master. She blinks again. The Master remains, somewhat confusingly, right in front of her, scowling, one of his hands on her arm.

"Where-"

"Resort planet, under the influence of some kind of telepathic field. Yes, that  _ was _ an illusion, and no, I don't know where anyone else is," he says, before she can even get the questions out.

"Are you-"

"Reading your mind?" The Master rolls his eyes. "Unfortunately, yes, because a continuous telepathic connection seems to be the only way to stop you from succumbing to the psychic attack again. I'm not trying to pry into your thoughts, but you are thinking  _ very _ loudly right now."

Immediately, Yaz tries to think quieter. She isn't sure how that's supposed to happen, but she does try.

The Master rolls his eyes, one half of the sort of look he usually shoots the Doctor when they think everyone else is too busy being stupid to notice. "You don't have anywhere near the level of psychic training to do what you're trying to. Just don't think anything too distracting."

Before she can stop herself, she starts wondering what counts as 'too distracting', which sends her down a path of the most distracting thoughts she could possibly have, like-

"Yes. Like that." He grimaces. "Don't do  _ that. _ "

"Sorry," Yaz says. "Not used to this."

"I know," he sighs. "Now hurry up, get out of that bed. We need to find the Doctor, or the source of this. Whichever comes first."

She hopes that turns out to be the Doctor; partially because then the Doctor might be the one in her head, which would be at least marginally better than the Master, but mostly because the Master without the Doctor is a recipe for disaster. Then she remembers that he can probably hear that, and tries not to think about it anymore. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything.

When she starts to stand up, Yaz tries to shake the Master's hand off her arm, but he quickly doubles down on his grip. She looks at him, about to ask why, when he sighs again.

"Touch telepathy," he explains, as if she's an idiot. "Unless you want to go back to your little fantasy with your girlfriend while your brain rots, we're going to need to be touching."

"Oh, great," Yaz mutters. "Lovely."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you really think I'm enjoying this either?"

"Fair point," she admits, standing properly. It's a little dizzying at first, though she's not sure if that's the telepathy, being unconscious for however long, or something else.

Impatiently, the Master drags her out of the bedroom and into a long corridor. It's like some hotel, stretched into absurd proportions. She'd almost compare it to the TARDIS' halls, but the TARDIS doesn't feel anywhere near this… unwelcoming. Secretive, like she isn't meant to be seeing it, and a little predatory.

"Descending order," the Master says, pointing to the next door along the hall. "We're working our way down. If whoever's inside isn't the Doctor or one of you humans, we're not going to bother."

Yaz frowns. "Why not?"

"Because I only have so much power to spare for expanding my mental shields, and I don't plan to waste it on every creature we come across. Even protecting you is making them less stable."

That… actually does make sense. A practical, logical, cold kind of sense, but she shouldn't have expected anything else from the Master, really. Trying to save everyone at once here would just end up with them back where they started.

"Glad I have your approval, PC Khan," he drawls, and she flushes, feeling somewhat defensive. "Now, if you don't mind, I suggest that we start looking."


	47. Crimson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to believe that, next time I post a chapter of this fic, it's going to be 2021 and the new episode will have aired! I, for one, am Very Excited

The red tent is exactly where the Doctor expected to find it, leaning haphazardly against the side of one of the few buildings that this ramshackle settlement has. Despite the man in the blue tent's warning about trigger happiness, she only waits a few seconds after knocking on the side of the wooden building before pulling up the front flap of the tent.

She half expects to find another gun to her face, or maybe some other weapon. Instead, the tent is completely empty. The Doctor frowns.

"There's not another red tent here, is there?" she asks the Master, as she ducks her head further inside.

"Not a one," he replies.

She scronches. "Huh. Maybe he's out."

"In this place?" Even though she can't see him, the Doctor can  _ hear _ the raised eyebrow. "Doing  _ what, _ love?"

"Yeah, alright, I get your point," she sighs. "It's probably not that simple. Be nice if it were, though."

Nice and boring. Not that there's anything wrong with boring, but she can hardly pretend that she hates the mystery of it all.

Glancing around the tent doesn't give her much to work with; it's a lot like the blue tent had been, full of survival supplies. Cans of food, mostly full water jugs, a bedroll and blankets, a gun tucked next to the pillow, a lantern - currently extinguished - and a media tablet. It takes a moment before the Doctor blinks, and then retraces her path of observation.

"If Markelli is even more trigger happy than our other friend, then why did he leave his gun if he went somewhere?" she mutters. "Even if he was sneaking out… Unless he didn't go willingly."

"Taken, then," the Master agrees.

"Same thing that attacked the original settlement, I'd bet." She picks up the media tablet and then sits down on the bedroll, pulling out her sonic. "Let's see if Markelli made any notes about what he saw before he went missing, shall we?"

The Master sits next to her, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, and she balances the tablet between their touching legs before sonicking it on. Default background image, default application arrangement, default color palette. When she checks the notes function, it's completely empty.

"Either this is new, or he was hiding something," the Master says, and the Doctor hums her agreement.

"Or both," she adds, already trying to hunt down any hidden programs that might be holding the information they're after. After a rather determined sonicking, something finally changes on the screen - green-on-black text pops up, scrolling to cover the whole tablet. "Hah! Look at this."

The Master leans a little closer to read the words, and she can't quite resist the urge to take in the warmth of his presence, the clean scent of his hair. For a moment, she lets herself get distracted by him, almost expecting some sarcastic comment to snap her out of it. When none comes, and he just lets her stay like that, a flicker of suspicion almost lances through her thoughts.

Then he shifts slightly and says, "Seems like he did more than just see the creature - he apparently wounded it," and she relaxes. He was just reading and didn't notice, was all. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Wait. How'd he manage that?" The Doctor squints at the text, and sees that the Master is right. "The guy in the blue tent said their weapons didn't work on the creature."

"He also never saw it."

"Good point," she admits. "Markelli's the only one who did, yeah? So why would he lie to everyone else and say the weapons don't work on it? And what does that have to do with him getting taken?"

The Master turns and looks at her, his mouth in a frown. "I haven't the foggiest love." In the blink of an eye, he's grinning instead. "But perhaps we should find out."

Hearing him so eager to investigate, to help other people - even if only to assuage his own curiosity - warms her hearts, and she can't help herself from kissing him quickly. He makes a content little noise, and pouts slightly when she pulls away, standing and taking the media tablet with her as she heads out of the tent. She can feel him close behind her when she steps into the open air and reaches back to take his hand without a second thought.

It's strangely warm, his touch nearly as hot as a human's. The Doctor almost brushes it off, but she can't quite shake the concern that he might be sick. She stops and turns to look at the Master.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asks. "You're a little warm. You haven't been coughing or having weird tingling sensations in your fingers, have you?"

The Master blinks. "No, I don't think so. Maybe you're just cold, dear. It is a bit chilly out."

Now that he mentions it, there is a sharp, icy wind whistling through the settlement. Which is particularly strange, because it had been pleasantly warm on the walk over. Suspicious, the Doctor pulls out her sonic and scans the air.

"That's odd," she says softly. "That's  _ very _ odd."

"What is?"

"My sonic says it's been cold since we got here, but I  _ know _ it was nice and sunny," she explains.

"So either my sonic is wrong, or my memory is. I'm not sure which it is, but either way, that's not good."

"Maybe it's connected to the creature," the Master suggests.

"Could be," the Doctor admits. "But how would that work? If it can mess with the environment like that and it wants to kill the colonists, why not just freeze or overheat them all to death?"

Her nose scrunches up in concentration as she paces back and forth, trying to think. After the third back-and-forth loop, the Master lets go of her hand and instead leans against the building, watching her with fond amusement.

"It doesn't make any sense," she complains, finally halting her pacing after a few more loops to join the Master. "None of this does. Why would Markelli lie about being able to hurt the creature? Why is he missing? And how does the weather tie into this?"

"It could be sabotage," the Master says, taking her hand in his. She must still be cold, because his touch feels warm as he does. "Two separate parts of the same plot to prevent the colonization from sticking."

"Maybe…" Her head thuds against the wall as she sighs. "This whole situation is plain  _ weird. _ I feel like I'm missing something here. More than just my fam, that is. Everything's a little bit off, you know?"

Thumb running gently over her own, the Master shakes his head. "I can't say that I do, love. Perhaps you're just not feeling well."

"No, I feel fine," she protests. "It's everything else that's wonky. Even you! You're acting strange too. Not that it's a  _ bad _ strange, but… I just don't know. Look, why don't I show you?"

"I don't-" the Master starts, but the Doctor is already reaching her mind out for his.

She freezes dead when, as her thoughts brush his, she doesn't find  _ him. _ Not the Master, not  _ Koschei, _ but something just as unnaturally warm and unnerving as his touch had been. Her vision swims and shudders to grey for a moment, headache-sharp pain flickering through her, before it refocuses into color.

"Theta, are you alright?"

Cautious, almost terrified, she tries to reach the Master's mind again, ignoring the question. This time, he feels right; warm and dark and comforting, curling around her thoughts just like he always does. The Doctor relaxes, lets out a relieved sigh, and leans back against the wall.

"Yeah. Sorry, I don't know what just happened." She squeezes his hand, reassuring herself that he's there and real. "Your mind felt wrong for a second, and I- I panicked."

"Maybe we should go back to the TARDIS," he says softly. "We can come back once you're feeling better. I'm worried about you, love."

He lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. The Doctor leans in, feeling his heartbeats and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It's soothing, putting her frantic mind to rest as his own moves gently around hers. When she doesn't respond immediately, he just runs his hand up and down her arm slowly.

"I think I'm fine now," she says after a moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Master raise an eyebrow. "Do you actually mean that, or do you not want to leave this mystery before you've solved it?"

"Really, I'm good," the Doctor insists, though it's not quite true. He knows her too well, some days - the mystery of all of this is too interesting to  _ leave, _ even if she is feeling a little odd.

"If you say so, dear." His tone more than implies that he knows she's not being completely honest, but he's never been all that good at leaving something like this alone either. He would, for her sake, but he's hardly going to argue against staying.

"Maybe we should go back to the TARDIS, though," she suggests. "We can go check out the original settlement, see what the aftermath of that creature's attack looks like."

The Master nods, and the Doctor smiles. And, if she has a bit of an ulterior motive for going back to the TARDIS instead of walking to the settlement, a theory building in the very depths of her mind where his own doesn't reach… well, he doesn't seem to notice. That suits her just fine for the time being.


	48. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021 everyone and... how about that special, huh? I have not stopped Yelling since I watched it, personally

Somehow, searching the rooms manages to become even slower with Yaz in tow. When they finally do reach the end of the long hallway, coming upon what looks to be a lift, it's been more than two hours. The Master's head is pounding like a drumbeat from the constant effort of protecting two minds while still keeping his and Yaz's thoughts separate - he has a feeling neither of them would particularly enjoy getting a more in depth glance into the other's psyche. Scant glances of her surface-level thoughts are already far too much for his liking.

"I don't even remember a lift when we came in," Yaz remarks, as the Master inspects the fairly innocuous-looking contraption.

"You wouldn't," he says. "Defensive measure in case you did break loose of the illusion and tried to escape."

And a rather annoyingly efficient one. He has no idea whether they should head up or down; whether they should search for the Doctor or the source of all of this. Not that that makes much of a difference for which way they're going to go - up or down, there's equal odds of finding either.

"Pick a number."

Yaz blinks. "Sorry?"

"Pick a number," the Master repeats, trying not to sound too annoyed. Even, they'll go down; odd, they'll go up.

"Uh, three hundred and forty-eight," Yaz says.

"Down it is, then," he sighs. With his one free hand, he pulls his sonic pen from his pocket and buzzes the lift. It makes a beeping, groaning noise, then after a moment a  _ clunk, _ and finally the doors slide open to reveal a rather cramped lift.

He tugs Yaz in behind him, though after two hours she's gotten the hang of keeping up with him and doesn't even stumble. Another buzz to the control panel has the lift descending with a rusty whirr. The lift is clearly not designed for use beyond transporting more victims to their rooms, as there aren't even buttons for the different floors. Just a telepathic interface panel, presumably linked to the collective illusion of the place.

When the lift settles at the ground-level floor, the Master is quick to step out. Yaz in tow. Though the walls are the same dull grey as the upper floor, they don't form an endless hallway, but a lobby. It's large, bland, and only broken up by an abandoned front desk and some disappointing chairs. One opening in the wall that leads to a spacecraft hangar and one set of doors make up the only way out of the room.

The Master's sure that when they'd arrived, they had landed here, but he doesn't see any sign of the TARDIS. Either the ship moved herself after the psychic interference kicked in, or she was relocated by whoever is running this place. He sighs. Just one more thing that he needs to worry about.

"If this is a lobby, where's the receptionist?" Yaz asks.

"Probably also part of the illusion," he says. "The furniture is here in case someone touches it, since it's harder to fake that, but there's no point in putting a real person in the room."

"You know a lot about this sort of thing."

He can feel Yaz's curiosity-bordering-on-suspicion in his mind as she says it - not quite a question, not really an accusation, but straddling the line separating the two.

"Not my first time dealing with high-quality illusions," the Master replies. "Or making them."

Without saying more, he drags Yaz after him towards the double doors, pulling one open. Beyond them lies a spiralling downward staircase, dimly lit by the white lights on the ceiling. The Master can barely make out the bottom, and he has to give credit to whoever designed this place - every detail is designed to be as mind-numbingly bland as possible, as long and tedious as is practical, all in hopes that if someone were to escape, the warm embrace of the illusion would be greatly preferable.

Yaz leans over the railing to stare at the drop. "Do you think whatever's behind this is down there?"

"I certainly hope so," he mutters. "Otherwise, it's going to be a very long walk back up."

"Yeah…" She steps back from the railing. "Best get started, then."

Shrugging his agreement, the Master starts down the stairs. They're just wide enough to fit the two of them without any awkward finagling to allow him to both keep his hold of her arm and walk, which is possibly the only positive part of the whole experience.

It only takes about five spirals of the stairs for Yaz to break the silence, much to the Master's dismay.

"What did you see?" she asks. "In the illusion."

"The Doctor."

"I figured that," Yaz says, rolling her eyes. "But-"

He cuts her off before the mildly invasive and highly annoying question can finish. " _ Just _ the Doctor."

No distractions, no humans demanding her affections, nothing but the two of them together and peaceful. He should have known from the start that it couldn't have been real. Even when it is just the two of them, alone, there's an undercurrent of tension and bite to it after a time. They can only go so long before one of them says something just a hint too sharp and they argue, or fight, or sulk on opposite ends of the TARDIS. It's been that way for centuries, at the very heart of it; an ebb and flow that neither of them really minds.

Sometimes, though, it's nice to imagine otherwise. And the Master's always been a romantic at hearts, even if the Doctor never noticed until recently.

Yaz stays relievingly quiet the rest of the long walk down, at least verbally. The Master can still hear her surface-level thoughts yammering away at the edge of his brains, but he can ignore those if he tries. It's not as though he has anything better to do with his mind.

At the bottom landing is another set of double doors, locked from the outside. One quick use of the sonic pen has those taken care of soon enough, and the Master pulls the right door open to see what lies behind them.

While upstairs had been bland, grey, and neat in the way that only something rarely used can be, this place is all gleaming metal and heat and the overpowering smell of honeysuckle. It makes the Master's head swim for a second, his grasp of Yaz's arm nearly slipping before he blinks once, twice, and makes himself focus.

"Are you okay?" Yaz looks at him, more concerned than he would have expected.

"Fine," he snaps. "Don't let me let go of you, you'll be under in seconds here."

She nods. "I'll try. It really doesn't feel that bad here, though."

"That would be because I'm shielding your mind," the Master reminds her. It's almost a relief, honestly, to have the psychic presence so close and real - it gives him a more solid foe to fend off than the vague, hazy stickiness that he'd been fighting before, even if it's still on two fronts.

"Oh," says Yaz, contrite. "Right."

She almost looks about to apologize, which the Master does not want to deal with, so he heads deeper into the mess of machinery and floral perfume, pulling her with him. All of the technology looks to be psychic boosters; the telepathic equivalents of radio towers, broadcasting the signal planetwide. That, at least, explains quite a bit. But even as he walks further and further in, he doesn't see a source for the sickly-sweet smell in the air.

It only gets more intense as he goes, to the point where, rather than choke on it, he switches over to his respiratory bypass. The awful, unnatural sweetness still sticks to the back of his throat even though he isn't breathing, leaving a strange aftertaste on his tongue. How Yaz isn't gagging, he doesn't know.

When they finally reach the end of the row of machines, the Master's head is spinning from the honeysuckle smell. Everything is a little hazy at the edges, but he forces down the dizziness with an effort of will and looks around.

In counterpoint to the machinery, there's what almost looks like a meadow; greenery and flowers and a false sun dangling from the ceiling. Wires from the psychic boosters still run across the springy grass, but they're subtle enough to be barely noticeable. And, settled at the center of the false meadow like a king on a throne, is a patch of wavering, unsteady light. A mirage with more substance to it, a lie built from a framework of reality.

"What  _ is _ that?" Yaz breathes.

As much as it pains him, the Master hasn't the foggiest clue. Not that he intends to say that. "Sentient telepathic energy of some sort. It's hooked up to those telepathic boosters, projecting personalized illusions across this whole planet, and getting something back in return."

"What, like some kind of parasite?"

"I wouldn't say that," he shakes his head and tries not to cough on the honeysuckle as he inhales. "More mutualistic of a relationship, I think, though it obviously doesn't mind killing the hosts. Your illusion wasn't unpleasant."

"No. It was… nice." Yaz smiles faintly. Then she frowns. "Wait, was yours?"

He dodges the question. "Normally, this sort of thing would feed on fear, or pain, or some other strong negative emotion. Here, though… I think it's after something else. Something more positive."

"So, it eats happiness?" asks Yaz.

"In the most basic possible terminology, yes," the Master sighs. "It eats happiness. And clearly, it's figured out a way to expand from one victim at a time to a whole planet's worth of food."

He's honestly impressed. It's a remarkably efficient system, and disguising it as a relaxation resort only lures more people in. Explaining away why none of the visitors ever returned would be a little harder, but if the thing was able to orchestrate the construction of a planet-wide hotel - even on a relatively small planet like this one - then it has to have a way of handling the legal and social side of things.

That he's going to have to destroy it is almost a shame. But this thing was stupid enough to try to hurt the Doctor, and the best way to rescue her will be to take this thing apart from the roots up, so this sophisticated farming of happiness will have to go. He just needs to figure out how to do it safely. Perhaps if he starts by-

"Uh, Master?" Yaz's voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

"What now?"

She looks pointedly to one side. "I don't think those guys are happy with us."

The Master follows her gaze to see two humanoid robots, armed with laser pistols. He sighs. These things always have the  _ worst _ timing.


	49. Self Aware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy one year anniversary to Spyfall pt 2, the episode that yeeted me full force back into this ship and began to inspire this fic!

There are still fields of hip-high golden grass, still the calls of songbirds, as the Doctor and the Master walk back to the TARDIS, but without the sunshine of before, they're far less reminiscent of Gallifrey. Just another alien planet - or moon, as the case may be - in need of saving, now. The Doctor doesn't particularly mind, though; in light of all the strangeness happening, she's not sure that she wants to be distracted with memories of her childhood right now.

Something is wrong with the Master. When she had reached out to his mind, she hadn't found  _ him. _ She'd found  _ something, _ that's for sure, but it had not been the Master. And then it had hidden itself, disguised itself as what she expected from the Master's mind. She may not be the strongest telepath, but she knows the Master, and this thing - whatever it is - can't come close to replicating him.

Oh, it had her fooled for a little while, but it was all just  _ too _ good. A mysterious adventure alone with the Master after a beautifully lazy morning, all warm and sweet and affectionate; she should have known from the moment he passed up a chance for a snarky comment when the TARDIS alarms went off.

It's tempting to just rush headlong into things and demand answers, of course it is. But it's not just the Master that's off - it's this whole planet, this whole situation. The cause of this goes far deeper than any imposter, any strange creature on a moon with baffling weather patterns. The flashes of grey that have snuck up on her a few times before almost have her thinking that-

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, love?"

The Doctor blinks, gives her head a little shake, and looks at the thing that is, at least for the moment, pretending to be the Master. "I'm fine. Just thinking about what might be behind all of this."

It's not technically a lie.

"Well, I'm sure we'll figure it out soon enough," the Master says.

"I hope so," she says. "I was enjoying our day relaxing."

He smiles, and she tries her best to make her own look sincere.

They reach the TARDIS not long after, and the Doctor pulls open the door with apprehension. Her ship is fine, but now that she's looking, it also feels strange. The wood is just a little too warm against her hand as she pushes the door gently inward; the typically comforting glow of the crystals arcing across the ceiling now feels too much like an anglerfish's lure.

She pushes down her discomfort and heads to the console. "Right! Back to the original settlement, then. The media tablet had the coordinates, didn't it?"

It hadn't, when she had checked, but she has a sneaky suspicion that it will now. And, sure enough, when she pulls the tablet from her coat pocket and turns it on, the coordinates of the first colony are conveniently located on the suddenly prominent mapping function. Funny, that.

Still, they're almost certainly accurate, so she types them in and starts moving around the console to prepare for dematerialization. On the other side of the console, the 'Master' does the same. Even though she knows he isn't really the Master, it's horribly easy to fall into the same old rhythm as they pilot the TARDIS together.

The ship settles with a familiar thump and groan, and the Doctor heads for the doors. Then, just as she's starting to reach for the door, a flash of painful grey consumes her vision. It barely lasts a second, no more than a heartbeat before she's blinking it away, but she can't help a prickle of satisfaction. She was right; this whole thing is an illusion, and every time she makes it work too hard - making new locations from scratch, creating a simulacrum of the Master's mind - it gives up for just a fraction of a moment. She can use that, eventually.

But for now, she'll play along with whatever narrative she's been given to keep her occupied.

The original colony was, at some point, top of the line. Sturdy, practical buildings fill the meadow, color-coded by function and arranged in an orderly grid. Or, at least, they were. Now, after being ravaged by whatever creature was so determined to destroy the place, they're mostly rubble. The buildings that aren't, though, seem remarkably untouched. The Doctor's hand tightens on the Masters, and he squeezes back in a gesture that would be comforting if she didn't know the truth.

Then she pulls herself together and, with a cheer that she doesn't feel, drags him to look at the wreckage.

"It doesn't look like an animal did this," she observes. "There's no animal that  _ could _ do this, really. These buildings are completely demolished."

"Couldn't have done it better myself," the Master says.

"But it's only specific ones, is the thing," she continues. "All the red, blue, and green, but none of the other colors. Weaponry, living quarters, and healing and food, if I had to guess."

"Someone wanted to make the place unlivable. Force the settlers out."

The Doctor picks up a piece of crumbling red stone, turning it over in her fingers. "Maybe it really is sabotage, then. The only person who saw the supposed animal and made it out alive is missing, and the survivors have been sending out a distress signal for quite a while to no avail. I'm thinking that whatever killed off most of the colonists wasn't an animal at all, and that all of this destruction came afterwards,  _ and _ that someone is deliberately ignoring their cries for help."

Even knowing that it's all a lie, made up to keep her distracted and compliant for… whatever is really going on, she's intrigued. The colonists and their struggles might only be psychic constructions, or bits of code, or some other kind of illusory construct, but that doesn't mean she doesn't care.

"And what about that witness?" the Master asks. "He knew their weapons could hurt what attacked them, but kept quiet."

"He must have been working with them and been at risk for talking," she says. "So they took him out before he could. Just another victim of the creature, and a motivation for the survivors to move camp again and lose more of their gathered resources."

It's not a terrible plan, really. Certainly the sort of thing that would, if it were real, keep the Doctor interested. Which, she supposes, is rather the point; as long as she's busy with this, or distracted by domesticity with the Master, she won't be prying into  _ why _ any of it's happening.

She doesn't even realize that she's gone quiet until a hand lands on her arm, nearly making her jump. Now that she knows to look for it, the sensation of the Master's touch is horribly, awfully  _ wrong. _ Too warm, too heavy, no genuine spark of telepathy behind it. A flat mockery of what -  _ who _ \- he should be.

The Doctor tries not to grimace and distracts herself. "I think we should try to find Markelli now, don't you?"

The Master nods. Of course he does. This whole place is trying so intently to go along with whatever she wants it to do, and it makes her skin crawl.

"Back to the TARDIS, then!" she says with false cheer.

They go through the utterly unnecessary song and dance of piloting the TARDIS, and the Doctor catches another flash of dusty, unkempt grey before the illusion reforms itself and she can step outside into the ramshackle settlement. They've landed in the middle of it, near the same building that the red tent is propped up against. The cold wind still tugs at her hair and coat, only adding to the eeriness.

"They should have samples of DNA from all of the colonists in the medical files," she says. "We can grab Markelli's and use that to track where he was taken."

"Sounds like a good plan," the Master agrees.

"Just need to  _ find _ the medical files," the Doctor mutters. "A colony like this, they'd have an emergency plan in case of this kind of disaster, and that's the sort of important thing they'd grab before leaving, so it's got to be somewhere around here…"

Sonic in hand, she starts to try the door of the nearest building. It clicks open easily, letting her inside the dimly-lit interior. From the clutter of boxes - color-coded, just like the buildings in the original colony - that covers the dirt floor, it's just meant to be storage for anything too big or too important to be kept in a tent.

"Green boxes," she says. For half a second, when she lets herself forget that the creature beside her isn't the Master, she waits for a fondly annoyed, "I  _ know. _ " Instead, he just nods and begins looking.

Predictably, it doesn't take long to find the right box, buried beneath a few other green boxes that must have been salvaged from the medical buildings before they were destroyed. The Doctor pulls the lid off and starts digging through the sturdy glass tubes for the right one.

"Hah!" She pulls it loose from its holder, tucks it into her pocket, and stands from the crouch she'd settled into while she searched. "We'll need the TARDIS to scan this properly, but this should help us find Markelli, and whatever took him."

There were other ways to find the missing human, of course, but the Doctor needs to test another theory too. Every time she catches a glimpse of reality, she can feel the weak points in the illusion. It's not enough for her to break through yet, not with her telepathic abilities; the Master could do it, could probably just force his way out of the illusion as-is if he tried. But the Master isn't here, so she's working with what she has - her own cleverness.

Stars, she misses him. There's no way to tell how long has passed in reality, no way to know if he's alright, and that's putting her on edge. Moreso than everything else about this situation. Is he trapped in his own illusion, with some construct of her? No, surely not. He's not dumb enough to get himself caught, even if she was. Not that she remembers how she got caught in the first place, with everything fuzzy and uncertain.

He's probably fine, probably already looking for her. That certainty does nothing to assuage her worry, though, and with the illusion in the back of her mind where he should be, she can't  _ truly _ be sure. But she trusts him, and that has to be enough.

Without waiting for the false Master to follow her, the Doctor picks her way back through the maze of boxes to the door. He catches up quickly enough, taking her hand. It still feels  _ wrong, _ but she swallows down her revulsion and tangles her fingers with his. Playing along is the best way to do things for now.


	50. Negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Disabling the robotic guards would be as simple as frying their circuitry with an electromagnetic pulse from his sonic, but the Master doesn't want to risk doing the same to the telepathic boosters filling the room. Cutting the illusion all at once without any psychic protection could cause permanent damage; though the Doctor would probably be fine, her companions might not be, and he doesn't want to do that to her.

The Master hisses an annoyed breath through his teeth, tightens his grip on Yaz's arm, and tugs the girl after him out of the open. After a quick sprint back through the honeysuckle-thick corridors between the boosters, they're far enough away to have some breathing room. Hiding crouched behind the machinery isn't exactly ideal, but there's no way the robots will risk destroying the equipment, and it gives him time to think.

"What's the plan?" Yaz asks.

"Well, right now it's a toss up between leaving you to that thing's mercy so that I have the telepathic energy to disconnect those guards from their source, or blowing something up and hoping that it doesn't cause massive psychic trauma to your friends," he snaps. "Take your pick."

He didn't expect her to actually do that, but Yaz doesn't hesitate to say, "Leave me, then."

"I don't know if I'll have time to pull you out again." Not that he  _ cares, _ of course.

"I'll be fine," Yaz insists. She grins for a brief moment. "Go play Doctor."

"I am  _ not- _ " the Master begins to protest, but Yaz is already yanking her arm out of his grasp before he gets through the first syllable.

She's close enough to the ground that, when she collapses, she doesn't have far to go. Still, the Master catches her just enough that she doesn't hit her head on the floor. It would be a waste, after all that effort spent keeping her mind functional, to have it all made pointless because of a concussion.

"I'm not playing  _ Doctor, _ " he repeats under his breath, in a tone that is most certainly not sullen. He's doing what needs to be done to save the Doctor; he's only rescuing the other victims because it's convenient, and because the Doctor is fond of these particular humans. And besides, his methods are  _ much _ more sophisticated than hers would be.

The muted clunk of rubber-soled metal on the floor draws him out of his grumbling, and he tucks Yaz's unconscious body safely out of the way before turning to face the robotic guards.

"Ah, hello gentlemen." He puts his hands on his hips and grins. "Terribly sorry, I do think this is a misunderstanding. I got lost, you see."

In reply, the robots brandish their guns in an appropriately menacing manner and advance on him. They're not going to shoot, not with so much important equipment around, but they can certainly make a threat of it. Instead of backing up, though, the Master lets them walk right up to him, close enough that their guns hover mere inches from his hearts. The statement is obvious - they can easily shoot him now, no risk to the boosters.

"You know, I really do admire your work," the Master says, still light and conversational. "Pity I'm going to stop it."

With that, he reaches out, grabs each robot by its face - well, face equivalent - and  _ pulls _ on their telepathic interfaces. The threads tying them to the force's control are strong, sturdy ropes meant to withhold a storm. Luckily for him, he brought a saw; jagged, toothy forces of will that make slow, albeit easy, work of it. Fragments of control snap one by one under his mental assault, but it's not fast enough. The telltale whine of a charging laser pistol begins to grate at his ears, and the Master grits his teeth until they ache and gives one sharp  _ yank. _ Rope snaps, and the robots sag without guidance, the whine of their weapons droning downwards.

"Like I said," he pants, taking in the too-sweet air like he's just run a marathon. "Admirable work. Almost got me for a second, there."

The Master allows himself a moment to catch his breath, runs a hand through his hair, and then grabs a pistol from one of the fallen robots. He probably won't need it, and it's only a stun gun, but it might come in handy. Then, armed and ready, he begins making his way back to the strange, artificial meadow.

When he gets there, stepping foot onto the springy grass that's far more green than anything found in nature - except, perhaps, arsenic - he gets the distinct feeling that the wavering patch of light in the center is looking at him. As it ought to be, really. He just took out two of its guards, after breaking out of its illusion and managing to locate the source.

"I'm sure you can hear me, so I'm not going to bother pretending otherwise. You've got a few things I want. Like my Doctor, and her friends." As he speaks, he paces around the meadow, twirling the pistol idly. "Now, you can play nice and let us all leave peacefully. She might not like letting you continue to eat people, but I'm sure I could make it happen. And then, of course, there's the option you're probably going to take, which is the one where you think you can win this fight and I prove you wrong. You weren't always this powerful - hell, you still aren't. It's all technology, cheating the system to boost your power and let you feast constantly. If I were to take that away…"

The Master's never seen a mirage shudder before, but he's rather proud that he managed to make it do so. That last part is just a tiny bit of a bluff and more of a lie than he'd let on, but his shields and acting skills are solid enough that he's certain the consciousness doesn't know that.

For a moment, there's silence. Then, pressing politely against his mind, a knock at the door compared to the battering ram from earlier, comes the reply.

_ Go. _

"Not just me," the Master says, because he's well aware of how ambiguous that request is. "The Doctor and her human friends, too. All six of us, no interruptions or attempts to double-cross me, and you return our ship  _ now. _ "

_ Agreed. _

He can't help the way his eyebrows creep up his forehead - this is far, far easier than he had expected it would be. Surely something about this isn't right.

"You'll give me the coordinates of their rooms after returning my ship, as well," he adds.

_ Agreed. _

"And if you don't, I'll dismantle your entire structure from the top down and then kill you very slowly and very painfully," he threatens, just for good measure.

_ Understood. _

"Right, well, glad we've cleared that up." Giving the pistol another twirl, he finally stops pacing for a second. "My ship, now, if you don't mind."

The Master hears the thud of rubber behind him a second too late to turn or do anything about it, and the whine of a third robot's pistol ushers him into oblivion.

"Right, well, glad we've cleared that up." Giving the pistol another twirl, he finally stops pacing for a second. "My ship, now, if you don't mind."

_ Of course. _

A second later, the groaning of the TARDIS fills the Master's ears, and the familiar shape begins to materialize on the artificial grass. Relief floods through his hearts, and he tries not to give it away. No sign of weakness right now, not until he gets off this planet.

He turns a raised eyebrow on the mirage still settled in the middle of the grassy field. "And the room coordinates?"

_ Transmitted to your ship. _

Well, isn't that  _ convenient. _ Not that he's about to complain about this place becoming easier to leave. With one final, sharp nod to the mirage, he steps inside the TARDIS.

He's not entirely sure when he started finding it comforting; the arching crystals and warm orange glow a familiar, home-like sight. It's the Doctor's TARDIS, after all, not his. Not that he even knows where his most recent one is, anymore. Still, the Doctor's ship is a jealous one, and he knows that she'll never truly accept him as a pilot no matter how often he helps with repairs and apologizes for past actions. For the Doctor's sake, though, the old thing does tolerate him, and he can't help but appreciate that.

"Ready to find our Doctor?" the Master asks the console room at large. He's also not sure when he picked up the Doctor's habit of talking to her ship, but it does generally get a reply, so he doesn't see a point in stopping.

True to form, the crystal pillars flash a dark, sharp red. The Master frowns. Surely the ship is just as eager as he is to get the Doctor back and safe, so why-?

Ah, right. Yaz.

"Yes, alright, we can get her first," he sighs. "But I am  _ not _ carrying her to you, so if you want her, you can make the hop. Deal?"

This time, his response comes in the form of bright, affirmative yellow pulsing up and down the central crystal. With a nod, he begins moving around the console, sending the ship into a quick materialization just a couple hundred yards away. Unnecessary, perhaps, but certainly quicker than walking. As Yaz's unconscious form appears on the floor - or rather, as the TARDIS appears around her - he's already inputting the coordinates for the Doctor's location. He  _ needs _ to make sure that she's alright.

Materialization takes too long, and by the time the TARDIS settles into reality in the Doctor's room, the Master is jittery with nerves, running for the doors in a way he never would if anyone could see him. He flings the door open, and is out of the ship and inside the dull grey room in a fraction of a second. There, on the bed like something out of a fairytale, lies the Doctor. Her face is relaxed in the softness of sleep, chest rising and falling gently.

The Master wastes no time in reaching her side, brushing strands of hair from her face. He can feel her mind shifting and roiling just beneath the thin layer of suppression that the illusion brings, just as he'd hoped for. It'll be easy to break, he knows, but he waits just a moment longer than necessary so that he can take in the peacefulness. She's rarely so relaxed these days, and even knowing  _ why, _ the sight of her at rest is a soothing one.

Then, with a barely-there brush of his lips to her forehead, the Master wakes the Doctor.


	51. Honeysuckle - pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of the 'finale' of this arc - it was originally written as one massive (and I do mean massive, the thing is like 11 pages and 4.7k words in Docs) chapter, which I decided to split up for the sake of my sanity and posting schedule. Enjoy!

Analyzing the blood samples is a quick task, nearly over before it's even begun. The Doctor's grateful - it means less time before she can test her other theory, and less time trapped with the imitation of the Master that she's only barely disguising her revulsion towards. When the TARDIS beeps to let her know it's done, she nearly lunges for the console and away from his touch.

"Right!" she says brightly, already flipping some of the preliminary switches. "Let's go find that missing person, shall we?"

Without waiting for an answer - she knows that it's going to be an agreement anyway - the Doctor throws down the dematerialization lever and braces herself against the edge of the console. Just as she'd hoped, the wash of dizzying grey hits her the same moment that the TARDIS would be entering the Vortex if any of this were real. It's a split-second decision to press the advantage while she has it, and a risky one at that - if she doesn't manage to break loose, there's no way that whatever is in control here won't know she's caught on. A memory wipe seems plausible. Still, there's no time like the present.

The Doctor doesn't even have time to grit her teeth before  _ shoving _ with her mind at the most vulnerable point of the illusion that she can find, in that fraction of time just before it's completely reformed itself. She doesn't have the raw power needed for a brute force attack, she knows that much, but if she can take advantage of the gap, she might just be able to slip out. It  _ hurts, _ her head throbbing from the psychic overexertion already as she tries to wriggle her way out to reality.

And then, all at once, as if she'd never been trapped in the first place, the Doctor is loose. Awareness takes a moment to hit her, but when it does, she realizes that she's on a bed. Not a particularly comfortable one, even; the mattress is stiff and uneven, and the pillows are lumpy. That's really the least of her problems, though, because she can't feel more than a faint hint of the Master's mind and that makes her panic more than anything else.

She remembers how they got there - resort planet, separate rooms, all of that - but she doesn't know where he is. Maybe he's fine and just far away, but she knows their luck. If his mind isn't reacting to her own, then something is wrong, and he wasn't as lucky escaping the illusion as she was.

And, speak of the devil, the Doctor can already feel the oppressive, invasive force at the edge of her mind, trying to slip past her shields. It's sticky and uncomfortably warm, just like the illusion of the Master's mind had been, so there's no doubt that it's the same thing. It knows that she's escaped, and it wants to trap her again. She doesn't have much time before it succeeds, so she needs to figure something out, and fast.

A quick glance around the room doesn't reveal much, but when she sonics the place in hopes of clues as to where the source of the illusion is, she gets something even better.

"Telepathic booster, huh?" she mutters. "A small one, too, localized to this room. Oh, that's very handy indeed."

There aren't exactly a wealth of places to hide such a thing; a grubby dresser, the bed, and a small bedside table make up the only furniture in the room. Standing up, the Doctor begins checking each place in turn. Nothing under the bed or in the table, which only leaves the dresser.

Already, the press of the presence against her thoughts is growing too strong to block out. Bright, vibrant colors are leaking into furniture that she  _ knows _ is a uniform grey, turning it into something far more welcoming and cheerful than it ought to be. The carpet becomes red, the wooden fixtures take on a more natural hue, and the whole place becomes brighter.

The Doctor shakes her head firmly, crosses the room to the dresser, and yanks open every drawer. After the first two yield nothing, she finally finds a small, metallic grey box settled innocuously in the back of the third drawer. A localized telepathic booster, meant to dampen the brainwaves within a room - or similarly sized area - and magnify those pumped into it by other, larger machines.

"Or, if it's reversed, do the opposite. Instant, personalized telepathic protection, as long as you stay within the system it's keyed to." The Doctor grins. "Pretty good, huh?"

When the question goes unanswered, she remembers that there's no one there to hear and sighs. The first order of business, after rigging up protection and stopping all of this, is to find the Master, and then her companions. Or, really, whoever of the two is closer, but  _ ideally, _ she'll find the Master first. She just needs to make sure that he's okay, needs to be close to him again.

But before all of that, she needs to make sure that she won't just slip back under the illusion and make all of this pointless. Once she's taken the booster from the drawer, the Doctor turns the palm-sized cube over in her grasp once, searching for where the transmitter and receiver are. Sure enough, on one side of the cube protrude two tiny, blinking lights. A quick buzz from her sonic swaps the signals, reversing which is being projected and which is being dampened.

Instantly, the tinge of color the room had taken on begins to fade again, back down to bland, lifeless grey, and the Doctor's head clears. She hadn't even realized that she was leaning against the bed, but apparently somewhere between retrieving the booster and now, she'd backed up until she was resting slightly on the mattress. Straightening quickly, she tucks the cube into her pocket and heads for the door.

The long, sprawling hallway that she sees when she steps outside is intimidating, to say the least. Without an idea of where her friends are, she'll have no hope of finding them like this - or at least, not before whatever's in control catches on and sends some underlings to take care of her.

Her first idea is to scan the now-dampened signal that the booster is keyed to in hopes of locating the source, but one glance at the results confirms that it's nearly ten kilometers away in a straight line. Getting there by foot would take far longer than the Doctor has.

"Fine," she mutters. "I'll do this the risky way."

Back with Nikola Tesla - and it's amazing how that feels so long ago, despite having only been a few days in her own, linear time - she'd tested out the new function on her sonic for summoning the TARDIS. After one too many incidents that led to her getting separated from her ship, the Doctor had figured it was time to fix that problem. Now, she just hopes it will work again.

"Come on, dear. Help me out," the Doctor coaxes, pressing down on the button until the tip of her finger goes white from the pressure.

It's a little eerie, the way that this setting doesn't make her sonic buzz like it normally would. Makes it hard to tell whether it's working or not; makes her feel like she's being foolishly optimistic as she waits with bated breath for the familiar wheeze of her ship.

And then, just as she's starting to get worried, the grinding of the TARDIS' materialization fills her ears, and a relieved smile spreads across the Doctor's face. Just ahead of her, blocking most of the narrow hall, the TARDIS appears. Wasting no time, she steps inside of the ship. There's a reluctant, almost skittish tone to the whirr that greets her.

"I know, you probably don't like all this telepathic pressure. No wonder you ran off." The Doctor gives one of the crystal columns a soothing pat as she walks to the console. "Trust me, the feeling's mutual. I'm as eager to get out of here as you are, but we need to rescue everyone else first."

The TARDIS makes a low buzzing sound and dims the lights. It's distinctly petulant.

" _ Yes, _ even the Master," the Doctor laughs. "You can pretend you hate him all you want, but you let him pilot with me, so I know you're lying. Now, can you take me to the source of all of this? I need to wreak a little havoc…"

When the Doctor steps out of the TARDIS again, into the oddly sweet air of what seems to be a sub-basement center of operations, she's prepared for almost anything. The sheer scale of the machinery spread out before her comes as no surprise - controlling an entire planet, or even a good chunk of one, through pure telepathy requires a lot of raw power. That can either come naturally or through technology, and she already knows this place operates on the latter.

What is surprising, though, is the gap in the large-scale telepathic boosters that seems to segue into artificial grass. That makes the Doctor pause.

"Why put a meadow in a basement?" she wonders aloud.

Empty, floral air is the only answer she gets, which serves as a sharp reminder that she still needs to save her friends. Asking questions  _ and _ doing that isn't beyond her abilities, but she's letting herself get distracted.

"Right," the Doctor says. "Need to focus on the plan, Doctor. Find the central point, set off the signal, find the Master, find your other friends. Nice and easy. Only four steps. Think I'm rambling to myself now, but that's alright."

She starts walking towards the meadow, which just  _ happens _ to be along the path that her sonic tells her leads to the center of this room. After this long, she highly doubts it's a coincidence;  _ something _ lies at the heart of this place, and the meadow probably makes pleasant scenery for it.

The grass is springy beneath her boots, almost a perfect mimicry of Earth's own. As she gets closer to the center, the smell of flowers - honeysuckle, she thinks - only grows stronger. By the time the Doctor sees the wavering, mirage-like patch of space hovering in the meadow, her head is swimming even with her shields as ironclad as she can make them.

A single droid stands guard over what is, unmistakably, the Master's unconscious body. Unconscious, she's sure, because his chest rises and falls ever so faintly, and because she's not certain what she would do if she were to be incorrect about that. Clearly, he'd managed to break loose and hunt down the source as well, but he got ambushed. When they make it out of here, she'll tease him about that. For now, though, she's just forcing down the surge of anger that rose in her throat at the sight.  


"So, you're in charge, then?" The question is directed at the shimmering air in the middle of the field.

_ Yes. _

Well, she hadn't expected an actual response, but that's her told.

"Hi, I'm the Doctor," she says, smiling brightly. "I'm here to stop you. 'Cause what you're doing here is wrong. Feeding on one person at a time, fine, I get it. You've got to survive somehow. But this? Turning it into a planet-wide lie? That's taking it too far, mate."

The pressure on her head, already worsened by proximity, intensifies. Inside her mind, the Doctor can feel something prodding around, looking for weak points. Warm, sticky mental force tries to trickle through the gaps, and she can feel her knees going weak and her vision fuzzing.

She gasps in a breath and does her best to stay upright. "What, no conversation? No big evil plan you're going to tell me about?"

As she talks, the Doctor activates her sonic in her pocket. Instantly, a staticy, confusing signal begins to pour out from the cube, magnified by the sonic to reach even the farthest corners of the room. As it interferes with the larger boosters, they'll begin to deteriorate and release the victims from the illusion. In the mean time, all that she has to do is keep the signal going and keep the consciousness behind it from noticing.

"Obviously, you're feeding off their happiness, and you're only going to continue needing more as you grow," she continues, voice light. "But what I don't get is, why the meadow here? What's the point in having a replica of an Earth field in the middle of your little lair?"

If she trusted her legs to support her, this is the point when she would start pacing. As it is, she rocks back and forth from one leg to the other. Even that, it turns out, is too dizzying, though, so she quickly stops.

_ Home. _

The Doctor frowns. "Home? What, it reminds you of your home? But you aren't from Earth. Oh, unless you're from an Earth colony, but you don't exactly seem very mobile, so-" Her voice trails off as realization hits her, pieces of the puzzle fitting together. It all makes much more sense, now. "You're not terribly creative, are you? That illusion you showed me, it was a bit of an autobiography, 'cept you're not one of the colonists. You're the big scary monster, stealing them off in the night to get rid of them all for someone else. A convenient way for a rival corporation to get rid of unwanted competition. And you just kept growing, hungrier and hungrier. By the time the people who brought you here in the first place changed their minds, it didn't matter because you could control them." Her nose scrunches up. "Talk about poor forward thinking."

It would be easy to feel bad for the thing. A completely unique kind of sentient telepathic consciousness, manipulated by humans for their own gain. Despite her wariness, a part of the Doctor feels like sympathizing, though she isn't quite sure why.

_ Clever. _

"Thanks, I try," she retorts. Her tone softens after a second. "Look, if there's any way I can help you  _ and _ rescue everyone you've got trapped here, please tell me. Like you said, I'm clever, I can figure something out if you work with me. You don't have to be worse than the people who started this."

She can  _ feel _ the suspicion in the creature's psychic presence as it continues to press against her mind.

_ How? _

"There's amusement parks that span whole solar systems, I'm sure we could work something out with one of them," the Doctor offers. "It won't be quite the same as what you're used to, but you'll be able to feed on people's happiness without trapping them in illusions until they die. How does that sound?"

The consciousness pauses, considering.

"You like making people happy, right?" she coaxes. "You were trying so hard when I was in that illusion to give me what I wanted, and I bet you do that for thousands of other creatures here too. It must hurt to feel them die."

_ Yes. _ There's a wealth of emotion behind that single thought, and it goes straight to the Doctor's hearts. Ancient pain at losing people that are, in one way or another, important - that, she can certainly understand. The methods, she might disagree with, but if the consciousness is willing to grow, willing to become better… 

"You wouldn't have to anymore. You'll get to see millions of people every day, and even though they'll leave, new ones will come. Trust me, it'll be better like that. What do you say?"

Another long, almost terrifying pause. The Doctor can't help a slight bounce from foot to foot, even though it makes her a little dizzy. She so deeply hopes that she's right, that this consciousness will take the better choice when it's offered. It happens so rarely -  _ too _ rarely - but sometimes, the universe really is a good place. She wants this to be one of those times.

_ Yes. _

A beaming smile spreads across her face, and she bounces slightly in place. "Brilliant! Now, I'm pretty sure your boosters are thoroughly disabled by now - sorry about that, I started the plan when I thought you were malicious - so I'm going to go find my friends, and then I'll figure something out to get you a new home, alright? Don't worry, I've got a time machine, you won't even know I'm gone."


	52. Honeysuckle - pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the second half - mostly softer stuff, since after the next interlude, it's time for Villa Diodati and the mad rush to the end that that's going to bring!

Still giddy with the happiness that comes from those rare few times that people, whatever form they take, are truly good, the Doctor makes a beeline for the Master's unconscious form. He's easy enough to carry, once she gets her arms underneath his knees and his upper back. A tiny surge of relief flows through her when she feels both of his hearts beating beneath her touch. An even bigger one comes when his mind sleepily brushes against hers; still groggy from the illusion, but quickly recovering.

_ Help? _ the consciousness offers. The robot guard waves an arm at her and the Master.

"Huh?" It takes her a second to process the interaction, her mind still caught up in a combination of relief and delight. "Oh, no, I've got him. Thank you, though. I appreciate it."

And she really does, but the thought of anyone but her touching the Master right now is absolutely unacceptable.

_ Understood. _

The Doctor turns and heads back the way she came, back towards her TARDIS. Without their telepathic signals being dampened, finding the rest of her friends should be easy enough with her ship's help. And she does intend to do exactly that, but… she'll at least wait until the Master wakes again, first.

It would be inaccurate, in the Doctor's opinion, to say that she's waiting anxiously for the Master to wake up. She knows that he'll be fine, and she knows that rushing the waking process would be risky, and she knows that, spinning listlessly in the Vortex as they are, there's no rush. Therefore, no matter how much she paces in their bedroom - and somewhere along the way, it really has become  _ theirs, _ and not just  _ hers _ \- or fidgets with her sonic, she's not  _ anxious. _ Just… impatient.

At the first miniscule sign of waking, the first bleary groan, she's by his side. He blinks his eyes open, then blinks a few more times until they focus properly on her. A second later, they go wide with terror and he scrambles back from her, one hand flying to a pocket in search of his sonic.

"I'm real!" she promises quickly, and then realizes how suspicious that probably sounds. "Check my mind, I promise I'm real. You're okay, Koschei."

His thoughts prod at her own, and she relaxes the shields she'd raised earlier when dealing with the consciousness. Still feeling almost tentative, the Master shuffles through her memories. An odd move, but she lets him anyway. Then, without warning, he grabs onto one of Bill and  _ yanks _ it to the forefront of her mind. Bill with a gaping hole shot through her chest, eyes wide with shock and horror and  _ betrayal, _ and the Doctor can still smell the burning of flesh and of that denim jacket she'd been so fond of-

Recoiling from the pain and heartache that memory brings, the Doctor unceremoniously forces the Master out of her head entirely and backs away from the bedside. She glares at him, wounded and defensive.

"What was that for?" she snaps.

"Had to make sure," he says, sitting up slowly and running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. It… seemed too good to be true."

"Could've been nicer about it," the Doctor mutters, though she knows that really, he couldn't have. He'd been testing to see if, like in the illusion, she would just go along with it, and he needed something strong enough to make her react. The ache in her chest and the bitterness in her tone is proof that he'd chosen well.

"I really am sorry, love." His eyes go huge and soft and apologetic, and it's terribly difficult to stay mad at him like that.

With a slight sigh, the Doctor sits down on the edge of the bed, kicking her feet idly against the bedframe. "I know. Just… you deliberately went for the worst memory you could find." It's not a question - they both know it's true. He doesn't bother denying it, and she doesn't bother getting mad. "I dealt with the consciousness behind all this, by the way."

"Without me?"

"I didn't kill it!" she says, glaring a little more at the Master's disappointed tone. "We talked. It's quite nice, really. Agreed to let me move it somewhere it can eat without trapping people forever. I told it I would pick you and my fam up, and then find it a nice amusement park or something."

He raises an eyebrow. "An amusement park."

"Or something," the Doctor finishes. "Somewhere safe for both it and the people it feeds on. What were  _ you _ doing down there, by the way? Doesn't seem your kind of plan, confronting it head on like that."

"Trust me, it wasn't much of a plan," the Master sighs. "I was looking for you, found Yaz instead, and ended up finding the basement faster than your room. Figured that, since I was already there, I might as well take a leaf out of your book and do something risky and stupid. You can see how well that worked out."

Despite his somewhat flat, almost sarcastic tone, the Doctor feels her hearts go warm and a little fuzzy at hearing that he was trying to do things the  _ good _ way.  _ Her _ way. And that he actually bothered to rescue Yaz is a lovely bonus.

"Still, you tried," she says softly. "Thank you for that. Means a lot to me."

He rolls his eyes, but she has a sneaky suspicion that if she hadn't kicked him out of her mind, she would be feeling the glow of satisfaction that he always gets when she's happy with him. It's a subtle thing, and he probably thinks that she doesn't notice the way the inky darkness of his mind takes on an oilslick sheen, but she's not nearly as unobservant as he thinks.

The Doctor twists slightly and takes his hand in hers, letting their link reform at the first brush of skin. Then, because she's missed him and she's proud of him for trying and mostly because she wants to, she leans in and kisses the Master. With him half-sitting and her turning, the angle isn't wonderful, so about halfway through she maneuvers so that she's facing him properly instead. From there, it's easy to melt properly into the kiss.

_ "Missed you," _ she thinks as he trails one hand up her back.

This time, she's able to sense the shimmering happiness that spreads through his thoughts.

Later - and it's not as though it matters how  _ much _ later, but the Master knows it's been close to two hours - they've finally settled back into the comfortable equilibrium of their minds, and some time before that their kissing wound down into cuddling. The Doctor's head is resting on the Master's chest, clearly listening to his heartbeats. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't doing similar, splaying his hand across her back so that he can feel her every breath beneath his touch.

Abruptly, she sits up, inhaling sharply. For half a second, he's worried that she's hurt, but then he feels the pang of realization from her mind.

"We still need to get my companions. And the consciousness."

The Master is briefly tempted to complain. If he were to try, he could probably coax another hour of this soft comfort out of her; they don't have a  _ real _ deadline, after all. But any attention he gets from her will be single-hearted at best, now that she's worrying about her friends and about finding somewhere for the consciousness to live.

A part of him is a little bitter at that. He'd tried doing things her way, and even if he'd succeeded, he still would have been  _ wrong. _ How was he to know that all the stupid thing needed was a little encouragement to be  _ nice? _ And really, if the Doctor hadn't connected… whatever dots she'd connected - even in her own memories, it's a tangle of illusion and psychic pressure too baffling for him to unravel - she would have done the same. But because she is who she is, she got lucky. She found a way to win without killing anything.

"Kosch?" Her voice brings him back to reality. "I asked you if you wanted to come with, or just stay here."

He sighs. "I'll come with you. Don't need you wandering off or getting stabbed in the back."

"Oh, yes, and you were  _ so _ helpful the first time," the Doctor mutters, a teasing grin pulling at her lips.

"Which of us got out faster, love?" he retorts. "I'm fairly certain that it wasn't you. The fact that you made it down there without getting pulled back under is a feat in and of itself."

A somewhat sheepish look crosses her face, and the Master narrows his eyes. He knows that look.

"You cheated."

"It's not  _ cheating, _ it's being resourceful!" she says, standing from the bed and doing a poor job of hiding her embarrassment. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yes, yes, I'm going to." He reluctantly pulls himself out from under the covers. "Give me a second."

As soon as he's standing, she takes his hand and tugs him with her out of their bedroom. It's only by sheer luck that he manages to grab his shoes along the way. He refuses to go barefoot, even if his purple socks are far better than the Doctor's own neon pink ones covered in cartoonish cacti. There are  _ some _ limits to what he'll do for her.

They retrieve Graham, Grace, and Ryan first, before going back down to the basement to grab Yaz. As the Doctor looks at her, passed out on the hard floor but tucked safely out of harm's way, she wonders how much of that arrangement was the Master's doing.

He claims not to care about her friends, and he still sighs and rolls his eyes and calls them 'pets' when he's feeling particularly snippy, but she knows that most of that's a facade. After all, he's back in the TARDIS making sure that the others are alright, and she'd only had to suggest it once before he acquiesced. From the Master, directed at someone who isn't her, that might as well be an open declaration of friendship.

Gently, she picks Yaz up off the floor and carries her back to the TARDIS. None of the others have woken up yet, and the Doctor doubts that they will for a while. That sort of psychic strain takes a while to recover from. She's beginning to feel the effects of it herself, even after the drowsy cuddling with the Master that she'd indulged in earlier. Once she has the TARDIS to herself - well, mostly - she fully plans to get back in bed for a nice long while.

But that can't happen until she's found somewhere for the consciousness to go, so she sets up a scan of the TARDIS' database for a suitable location while she takes Yaz to one of the guest rooms. If her companions stayed on more often, they would have their own rooms, but since most of their adventures are one- or two-day trips at most, there's not much of a point. So, in lieu of a more fitting place, she's put them all in spare bedrooms while they sleep off the illusion.

She tucks Yaz under the covers as gently as she can. From what the Master told her, the young woman had a rougher time of it than the others; being broken loose from the illusion and then pulled back under without much warning probably wore her out. Still, the Doctor's proud of her, if a little worried about her recklessness. Then again, Yaz probably wouldn't be travelling with her if it wasn't for a reckless streak.

That's the sort of thing that worries her, sometimes. Nights when she can't sleep, mostly, or when the memories of long-lost friends are too strong. Adventurous, interesting people tend to be drawn to her - or the other way 'round, really - and then, inevitably, torn away. The Doctor has tried so hard this time to prevent that, to stop her newest friends from being drawn in too deeply to something that will only end in pain. She only hopes that it works; she doesn't want to lose them, too.

Once they find a suitable planet - or rather, a suitable planet-spanning theme park - the process of dropping off the consciousness is an easy one. The Doctor carefully materializes the TARDIS around it, gives both it and her ship firm instructions to play nice, and then rematerializes in a secluded corner of the park. With a little help from the Master to herd the consciousness back out of the TARDIS, it almost feels  _ too _ easy. Some tiny part of the Doctor keeps fretting that something's about to go wrong.

Yet, as she gives a final wave to the shimmering patch of air settling into the comfortably grassy patch of land before shutting the doors once more, nothing goes wrong. No last-second backstabbing, no sudden warm stickiness to everything making her worry that she's trapped in another illusion, no unexpected natural disaster.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," she says, "but does this feel weird to you?"

The Master gives her a look. "Darling, all you ever do is look gift horses in the mouth, and then get bitten."

She wants to argue, she really does, but he has a point. The universe has already proven itself to be a far kinder place than she had expected once today; surely it can do that again. Just this once, she'll accept the peace and quiet.


	53. Interlude: Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, more fluff! Of the 'I swear this started out as something with more plot but it became character introspection by accident' variety

"You're going to need to close your eyes," the Master says softly.

"I  _ know," _ the Doctor snaps. "I'm not thirty."

He holds his hands up, apologetic. "It's a starting point, love, not a criticism. Close your eyes."

She huffs a sigh through her nose, and then closes her eyes. Not softly, like he'd been hoping for - more clenching them shut, until her nose is scrunching up too - but it's better than nothing. The darkness helps hone focus, in his experience, and for the Doctor, who could find a distraction in a bare room, he'll take any way to help her focus that he can get.

"Focus on your-"

"Yes, on my defenses, so I can build them up," she finishes for him. "I passed telepathy eventually, I promise. You were there."

"I was there because I helped you cheat on the exam," the Master points out. "And we only got away with it because the proctor was an incompetent fool." Taking her hands in his, he leans forward until their foreheads touch. "Theta,  _ please. _ I don't want anything like that happening again. Just... try for me."

As much as he wishes that he could promise to always be there to shore up her shields, to take the brunt of the psychic impact, he knows as well as she does that that's not a promise he could keep. The illusions had proven that quite handily, and he's sure it won't be the last time something like that happens. And next time it  _ does, _ she might not have so much luck finding a weak point or discovering some secret benevolence. That scares him more than he would ever admit.

"It's frustrating," she complains. "Makes me feel like a kid again, and not in a fun way."

"I know. I wouldn't be asking you to do this if I didn't think it was worth the time." Gently, he squeezes her hands between his. "You've been doing so much for me. Let me help you with this."

She squeezes back. "I'll try. Not good at being bad at things, but I'll try."

If he thought he could kiss her without the both of them getting very pleasantly distracted, the Master wouldn't hesitate. Instead, he nudges a small tendril of affectionate warmth towards her mind. From the smile that barely quirks her lips up, the Doctor understands.

"Now, your shields are fine for handling one or two concentrated attacks," he says, prodding demonstratively at them. "And your mind is confusing enough that if someone  _ did _ get in, they'd be hard-pressed to find what they want."

"Oi!" she protests.

"But those illusions were more pervasive," he continues, ignoring her annoyance. "Once your shields were overwhelmed, the consciousness could go pretty much wherever it wanted."

What he doesn't say is that their continuous psychic connection makes doing that easier. It's a weakness, a loose thread that anyone powerful enough can tug on, a back door into both of their minds. Risky or not, neither of them are willing to lose it. Not with how poorly they'd both handled that before.

The Doctor shakes her head. "Not entirely. I managed to keep some bits separate. That's how I was able to put things together without being caught."

"Well, color me impressed, dear." It's genuine surprise that fills his tone, and more than a bit of pride. "How?"

"I kind of… squished it all down," she explains. "I didn't think too hard about my suspicions, just shoved them where I didn't think it would look."

The Master blinks. It's an unorthodox approach, but clearly an effective one.

"Personally, I would have constructed a shield around them so that it wouldn't notice in the first place, but I suppose that works."

"Yeah, well, you're better at that than I am," she says, not quite as resentful as she sounds.

"It's always nice to hear you admit it," he says with a grin.

Laughing, she pushes him away slightly. Rather than fight it, he leans away from the touch, sprawling back onto the bed. A moment later, the Doctor follows, bracing herself on her forearms so that her face is only a scant few inches from his. Her eyes are open, now, crinkled at the corners from her smile.

"You're being a distraction," she accuses. "How am I supposed to learn like this?"

"You're clever, you'll manage."

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh,  _ now _ I'm clever."

"Never claimed you weren't," the Master replies. "Just terrible at telepathy. Horrible, even. Dreadful, if I were to be bold-"

The Doctor cuts him off with a kiss, and he happily shuts up in favor of deepening it. As she presses him into the mattress, he feels her test the walls of his mind. They're relaxed - or as relaxed as they get - but he doesn't want her to think he's making things easy on her, so he deliberately raises the defences a little.

She doesn't take the easy way in, slipping along their connection. Instead, she treats it like she would any other challenge, poking and prodding to find where the weak points are and make use of what she has at her disposal. It helps, of course, that they know each other so well, but even then, it takes her a little while to find somewhere she can sneak between the cracks. The Master waits patiently, and when her mind lights up with triumph inside of his own, he grins.

_ "Dreadful, huh?" _ she thinks, smug.

He hums. "All the offense in the world doesn't matter if you can't defend yourself, love."

And then, to prove his point, he pushes past her own hastily-raised defences. Gentle, but firm enough to easily get through without noticeable resistance. They're both still on the very surface of the other's mind, no deeper than their connection naturally allows, but now it's a competition. The Master presses further, beyond surface-level thoughts and memories, down into murkier waters. Distantly, he feels the Doctor do the same.

Her mindscape is always a little confusing, no matter how many times he's been inside of her head. Where his is organized, at least to a certain degree, her mind is a clutter of everything that runs through her head, all tangled up like yarn. It's impossible to pull on one thread without bringing another seven along for the ride. With a delicate touch, he nudges the messy knot of somewhat-reluctant delight that this new game of theirs brought aside to continue.

Unlike his mind, linear and flat and stretching ever outward, the Doctor's goes vertical. In order to get anywhere, he'll have to press down through layers upon layers of old thoughts and memories, stacked on top of each other like the world's most baffling sheet cake. No wonder the consciousness had struggled to get entirely inside her head.

More recent memories come first, still densely twisted up in emotions. All of their adventures together, interrupted by a tangle of grief and hurt and longing during those long seven months that even now, the Master barely recalls. After that, separated from newer memories by a sharp, stark line of gold, comes their previous regenerations, drenched in all the hesitant yearning of the Vault.

Deeper still lurk the memories of the Time War, carefully partitioned away from where they can do much harm. The dark, heavy threads that connect these to the upper levels of the Doctor's mind disappear into the tangle of thoughts, but he can see glimpses of them every so often. Waiting to be tugged on, but smothered as much as possible.

He remembers, back on the Valiant all those centuries ago, how much closer to the surface those memories used to be. Raw nerves, practically bleeding with regret and grief. He'd taken advantage, then; twisted them just to cause pain. Now, he's happy that she's healed somewhat. Not fully - he doubts either of them will ever manage  _ that _ \- but enough.

The Master probes a little deeper, through older but less painful memories of their early days. Her fondness still laces through them, even for his more desperate attempts to steal her body or trap her or whatever other inane schemes he'd had. There's a particularly strong wave of nostalgic happiness for when they'd both been trapped on Earth together, which almost makes him stop just to bask in it. But no, this is a race, and he hardly intends to lose by getting distracted.

Further down, below even that, is their childhood. Hazy with time but still sharp enough that when he brushes against memories of the Academy, he can taste the sweetness of the air, feel the chill of the halls on his skin. Tainted slightly with hindsight and the knowledge of what comes after those long sunny days, but softened with remembrance all the same.

He expects more resistance as he pushes past the final layers of memories and into the more important parts of the Doctor's brains; the parts that he could easily misuse. She should be more worried, the Master thinks. He's buried so deep in her mind that he could do just about anything to her - stop her breathing, stop her hearts, stop any regeneration that might happen. He won't, of course, he never would, but... old habits die hard, and he can't help but wonder why she doesn't have proper defences up.

And then he feels the Doctor call within his own mind, and realizes that she's just as deep; spread out and all-consuming, though mostly focused on his memories. There's an implicit threat there, too, just the same as there is in where he's situated. She could so easily trigger the agony of the Matrix's block again, and there'd be nothing he could do to stop her.

Neither of them follow through on their threats, not after this long living in something close to peace. The Master settles for giving a little caress to her subconscious and feels the Doctor shiver, and in return, she wraps tighter around his thoughts in a way that's caught somewhere between possessive and comforting.

It's a bad idea to stay like this for very long, now that they've both proven their respective points. If either of them were to slip, they could very easily lose their sense of self and get lost in the other's mind. But the Doctor doesn't seem particularly worried, and the Master is confident enough in his own abilities to not fear it either.

So, for an endless moment, they stay, caught up in the ebb and flow of thoughts. The Master hadn't planned for the attempted lesson to end quite like this, but he's hardly upset. Her mind is comforting, particularly after the strains of the illusions. None of the sticky, clinging warmth; just the wonderfully unique way her thoughts and memories and everything else twines together into a three-dimensional tapestry. He could stay here forever, lost in her.

But eventually, as all things must, it comes to an end. The Doctor's ability to keep herself coherent in two pieces is wearing thin, and she begins to withdraw from his mind, pushing herself back into her own head. After one more second to bask in her thoughts, the Master starts to do the same.

There's a brief heartbeat, before he's entirely back in his body, when the Master tries to open his eyes and realizes he's opened the Doctor's instead. He closes them again, concentrates, and by the time he opens them once more, he's on his back staring up at the wonderful creature above him. She blinks her own eyes open not long after, looking at him fondly.

_ "We got distracted," _ she thinks.

He'd reply with words, but they feel too heavy on his tongue, too restrictive in the cooldown from being pure thought for perhaps a little too long.  _ "Worth it, though." _

The Doctor laughs, and leans down - though their noses are already almost touching - to kiss him, quick and light. He's happy to let it stay just that, which works out when she pulls back and rolls off of him to lay on her back.

_ "I'm exhausted. You're exhausting." _

_ "At least my mind has some proper structure to it," _ he retorts.  _ "I had to wade through yours without any assistance. It's like a jungle in there." _

A light hit on the chest is the only response he gets, before the Doctor wraps the same arm around him and her mind begins to go soft and slow with the patterns of sleep. Her breathing evens out against him, and he can't help the urge to lean slightly and press a kiss to her forehead. She snuggles a little closer; after so long in each other's heads, the reminder of physical distance isn't doing either of them any favors.

They'll manage. Come morning - or the closest thing this ship gets - they'll be properly back in their own heads, and maybe the next time the Master tries to help with her shields, he won't get drawn in so easily. After Gloucester, he knows just how risky it can be to stay that close to her mind in the long-term.  _ Too _ risky, really. Their bond is one thing, but their dependence on it is another entirely.

With a slight sigh, the Master closes his eyes and listens to the Doctor's gentle breaths. They'll worry about it later.


	54. Quadrille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for another arc I've greatly enjoyed writing so far!  
> Also, keep an eye out on this series on the 25th. I'll be posting something new...

'Twas a dark and stormy night, the wind howling through rain-sodden trees and lightning sporadically illuminating turbulent lake waters, hounded by the bone-shaking crash of thunder. The sort of night wherein spectres lurked, ghosts moaned of long-dead secrets, and demons prowled in search of those foolish enough to venture out of the safety of their homes. And indeed, any who happened to be about on this night were truly fools, for the ground was treacherous and slick, and vision more fleeting, even, than any scrap of fabric not soaked through with chilling rain.

The Doctor's beginning to regret not parking closer. Before actually doing it, the idea of a bit of a walk to arrive at the lake house had seemed refreshing. At this point, though, they're closer to the house than the TARDIS, so despite Graham and the Master's griping, there's no point in turning around.

"Only a bit further!" she promises. "Look, you can see the house!"

"What?" Graham shouts.

"You can  _ see _ the  _ house!" _ the Doctor repeats, louder. Naturally, as she's speaking, lightning tears through the sky, and the thunder chasing it drowns out her words. "Oh, never mind."

_ "Remind me why you parked in the woods?" _ the Master thinks, his words dripping annoyance almost as heavily as their clothing is dripping rainwater.

She sighs.  _ "Atmosphere! And the TARDIS didn't want to get any closer." _

Under most other circumstances, that would be a little worrying, but she's fairly certain that the only reason her ship refused to land closer was out of spite. Meeting Ada Lovelace twice had been an accident, but she really has no excuse for doing the same with Mary Shelley. But Yaz had mentioned Frankenstein off-hand, and she couldn't resist offering to take the four humans to meet the woman responsible, on the very night she first thought up the book.

She's set rules, of course. No spoilers, no interfering, and they're only staying for a little while. Really, it's not that big a deal.

Finally, they reach the front doors of the villa. There's just enough of an overhang for the six of them to huddle underneath it, barely out of the storm. Not that it makes much of a difference; the wind is still furious, and it keeps blowing freezing cold rain into them.

The Doctor knocks firmly and quickly on the doors. Another bolt of lightning, and then a rumble of thunder, pass without any answer. She tries again, louder. Maybe they just hadn't heard over the sounds of the storm. When that still doesn't get a response, the Master leans forward and knocks, one-two-three-four.

At long last, the doors swing open inwards, precisely matching the jagged strike of lightning that casts brief, white light across the dark wood of the doors. Before the Doctor can really take in the people inside, they all scream, and out of pure, startled reflex, she does too.

There's a moment of awkward silence following that, during which the man who had flung the doors open - Lord Byron, she's almost sure of it - straightens his shirt.

"Good evening!" she smiles. "Not quite the welcome we were hoping for, but I'll admit, we've looked better." With one hand, she fishes through her coat pocket for her psychic paper. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances. I'm…"

She pauses, waiting for them to fill in the blank for her as they read whatever the psychic paper offers. All that meets her is more silence.

"Nothing?" Frowning at it, she mutters, "Hmm. Might need a blow dry."

"We were unfortunately waylaid by the storm, and our carriage is stuck in the mud," the Master says, taking over smoothly. "Might you be so kind as to allow us temporary reprieve from the weather?"

"Please?" Ryan adds. "Before we drown to death?"

Byron glances at them, then laughs softly and gestures them inside. Beaming, the Doctor does exactly that.

After a quick round of introductions, the butler, Fletcher, leads them upstairs, showing them to a coatroom where they can shed at least a few of their completely sodden layers. Grace and Yaz leave their bonnets hanging on hooks to dry alongside their heavier jackets, while Graham, Ryan, and the Master take off their overcoats. Even though her coat is uncomfortably wet, the Doctor ends up leaving it on; her waistcoat, as nice as it is, doesn't have much in the way of pockets.

"One hour, tops," she reminds her companions as they head back down the stairs.

"Plus drying time," Graham insists.

"Okay, so there was a spot of rain," the Doctor admits.

"A bit of a hurricane, too," Grace interrupts with a teasing grin.

"And about half a marathon," continues the Master.

The Doctor valiantly ignores them both. "But I got us here, didn't I? And Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin - soon to be Shelley - screamed in your face. Quality historical experience, that. Gold!"

"On the night that inspired Frankenstein," Yaz whispers.

Halfway through opening her mouth to remind Yaz of the rules, the Doctor startles as Fletcher appears out of nowhere.

"If you'd be so kind." He points to the right side of the entry hall.

"Blimey!" Graham mutters.

"Excuse me, Yaz, I was very clear about the rules," the Doctor says, once the butler is out of earshot.

"Nobody mention Frankenstein, and don't interfere," Ryan repeats dutifully.

"And nobody snog Byron!" Yaz chimes in.

"Right!" she nods. "Five points to you both. Now, come on. Witness some of the most enlightened minds of the generation at the pinnacle, the absolute  _ zenith _ of their creativity."

They trail after Fletcher, letting him lead them through the house to a door. After pausing for a brief glance back, he opens the door to reveal the room within. Sprawling on the floor are Byron and Claire, shrieking with laughter. Byron is blindfolded, though he quickly pulls the scrap of fabric off as he stands and smiles at them.

The Doctor tries to mask her disappointment. She knew, intellectually, that the storytelling probably wasn't going to begin for a while, but it's rather a bit of a letdown. The Master sends a tiny pulse of sympathy to her, which helps a little.

"Would you all care for something to drink?" asks Byron.

When they shake their heads, Mary grins. "We shall teach them the dance! Tell me, do you know the quadrille?"

"Ah, but I'm afraid there are two too many of us for that," Byron sighs. "Though I do find myself too tired to dance right now. Mrs. Doctor, perhaps you and I could allow our friends this dance, while we enjoy the music?"

Surprised, the Doctor blinks. "Just 'Doctor' is fine, thanks. And… sure, don't see why not."

She can  _ feel _ the Master glaring behind her, but Byron seems utterly unfazed, and merely smiles. Fairly quickly, though, the Master is pulled away by a somewhat shy Claire, and everyone else partners up soon after. Ryan with Mary, Yaz with Polidori, and Graham quite happy to stick with Grace.

While Fletcher starts up a cheerful tune on the pianoforte against one wall, Byron leads the Doctor to a pair of chairs in front of a massive window. She sinks into one, and he into the other. And then, conspiratorially, he leans in.

"I detest all gossip, you understand," he says, his voice low but audible over the lively music. "Utterly abhor it."

Well, if the Doctor hadn't guessed where all this was going before, she certainly knows now.

"Still, I feel it only fair to keep you on the same footing as the rest of us," Byron continues. "Now, though Mary goes by Mrs. Shelley… she and Percy have yet to be married. It really is  _ quite _ a scandal. And Mary's step-sister Claire - well, she's infatuated with me." He glances over at Claire, who seems just as intent on gossiping as Byron, albeit with the Master instead. "She scrambled five hundred miles from England to come and see me here. Couldn't exactly turn her away."

The Doctor keeps her face neutral and nods. Unsurprisingly, Byron takes this as further encouragement to talk.

"She's a sweet girl, of course, but I'm hardly intent on marriage any time soon. I'd rather focus on my work at the present."

He leaves out, she notes, the fact that his marriage to Annabella Millbank is both still legally binding and a massive disaster on the verge of explosion. Or that he has a daughter from that marriage, though the Doctor knows Annabella did her best to keep Ada away from her father.

"But what of you and your friends?" he asks. "The fellow in purple seems very charming."

She snorts. "That's one word for it."

"Are the two of you close, then?" He raises his eyebrows suggestively. "He looked rather upset when I offered to sit out the dance with you."

There's an underlying question there, though not a very subtle one, and the Doctor has no interest in giving Byron the answer he's hoping for. One brooding, romantic drama queen is more than enough for her. That, and she has no desire to repeat her eighth self's mistakes.

"We're married," she says shortly.

In the back of her mind, she can feel the Master's shock, and she watches him stumble ever so slightly as he tries to recover. Claire looks at him with concern, but he seems to brush her off. The Doctor sends a brush of amusement to him, and gets only fond annoyance in return.

"Ah," says Byron. He doesn't sound particularly deterred, despite that. "You're both exceptionally lucky, then."

She nods slightly, absently. As  _ lovely _ as gossiping with Lord Byron is, there really should be some more writing going on here. Before she can suggest that, though, the Master is in front of her, bowing far more elegantly than is necessary.

"May I have this dance?"


	55. Incredible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't checked out Seven Months yet, it's some post-And Now, A Word From Our Sponsors and pre-ITYSK domestic fluff with O and the Doctor to celebrate one whole year of this series!

_ "You're really not helping, just so you're aware," _ the Doctor points out, as they watch the other pair of couples - Yaz with Byron, Claire with Ryan - twirl around each other.  _ "They're supposed to be writing." _

_ "Your noninterference rules, not mine, love," _ the Master retorts, smiling pleasantly at Byron and Yaz when they move closer.

She huffs a sigh out through her nose.  _ "Those weren't for you and you know it." _

_ "So you  _ **_want_ ** _ me to wreak havoc on the timelines, then? Undermine the creation of the first true science fiction novel in human culture by giving the idea away?" _

"Now you're just being difficult," she mutters.

"Always, dear," he says with an obnoxious level of cheer, before he takes hold of her lower arm and sweeps her into the fast-paced final section of the dance.

Though the dance itself isn't anything complicated, the Doctor stops bickering for a moment to appreciate it. It's been a long time since they got to do this without anything immediately life-threatening looming in their minds, and the simple synchronicity with the Master is a wonderful feeling. Their steps are perfectly matched, moving quick and light across the floor in spinning, dizzying circles that would leave any human winded.

As the song draws to a close, ending on a cheery chord, the Master kisses her chastely on the cheek.

Grace is growing a little worried. After the first dance, she and Graham had slipped away in search of a little peace and quiet - and for Graham's sake, a lavatory. Without a guide, though, and with the house only lit by flickering candles, it's easy to get turned around. She's pretty sure they've passed the same gloomy painting of a vase of roses twice now in search of the stairs, but when she rounds the next corner, she sees a new hallway and, midway down it, a young woman sweeping up shards of pottery.

"Pardon us, love," she begins, and the woman whirls around with a gasp.

The poor girl looks pale as a sheet, eyes wide and frightened, staring at the two of them like she's seen a ghost. She whispers something, though Grace can't make it out.

"Sorry, we're a bit lost," Graham apologizes. "Looking for the lavatory?"

Still trembling, the woman points down the hall. Then, shaking her head, she hurries down the hall past them, broom in white-knuckled hands. Grace almost wants to stop her and make sure she's alright, but the woman is gone before she gets the chance.

"Right." Graham blinks.

"I'm sure we'll be able to find one ourselves," Grace says. "Come on."

More confidently than she feels, she heads the opposite direction that the young woman had run off in. Hanging on the wall is either the same painting of roses, or a very close cousin. She frowns, but keeps walking. There's a staircase just down the hall, and since they've had no luck finding a lavatory down here, hopefully there will be one upstairs.

Thunder crashes, and it almost sounds like something hits the floor, the sound hidden by the rumbling. Grace turns to look, but doesn't see anything.

"You alright?" asks Graham.

"Hmm?" She looks back at him. "Yeah. Just thought I heard something."

He gives her a wry grin. "Like the thunder?"

Rolling her eyes, Grace laughs. Graham's probably right, anyway. Just an old house on a stormy night; nothing to be scared of.

"Something's wrong here," the Doctor says, tugging Yaz and Ryan with her, away from the center of the room. With Mary busy picking music for the next dance, nobody seems to notice. "On this night, June, 1816, Byron challenges Mary, Polidori, and Percy Shelley to come up with a ghost story. Spot the difference!"

"Not much writing going on," Yaz offers.

When the girl doesn't continue with what she'd been hoping for, the Doctor looks pointedly at the Master.

"And no Shelley," he sighs.

"Bingo!" she exclaims. "They're a man down."

"Yes, alright, perhaps there is something off," the Master admits. "And I'm sure you're going to want to break every rule you put in place to fix it."

She nods. "Except the one about snogging Byron."

"Oh, thank goodness," Ryan says under his breath.

"So, the Master and I will go look for Shelley, and you two stay here," the Doctor continues. "Once we find him, we'll be right back."

"Right," agrees Ryan.

Yaz takes a moment longer to answer, looking distractedly over the Doctor's shoulder. Eventually, though, she nods her head.

The Doctor turns to go, then whirls back around. "Actually, where'd Grace and Graham go?"

After the incident in Gloucester, she really has tried to be better about keeping track of her companions. She knows the two of them sat out a round of dancing before, but they aren't anywhere in the room.

"Graham said he needed the loo," Ryan answers with a shrug. "Probably got lost."

"Huh. Well, we'll look for them, too."

With that question answered, the Doctor heads for the first new door she sees, the Master close behind her. They've got a poet to find.

While the Doctor talks, making plans to find Shelley, Yaz watches Claire take a letter opener off a table and slip out one of the doors. The girl is quiet about it, and Yaz doubts she would have noticed if she hadn't been looking. But she was, and now she's very, very suspicious.

An awkward pause indicates that she probably missed a question, so Yaz nods quickly - with the Doctor, that's usually the best response - and then slips off after Claire the second the Doctor turns to go.

The arching ceilings of the halls give the house an eerie, vacant feeling as Yaz tries to guess which way Claire went, and the storm still howling outside doesn't do it any favors. If she didn't know any better, she'd want to say the place was abandoned.

A glimpse of pale fabric catches her eye, and Yaz turns her head to see Claire kneeling on the floor in front of a door and not doing a great job of picking the lock. She doesn't bother trying to be stealthy - she wants to talk, not frighten Claire. And yet, as she steps closer, Claire inhales sharply and spins around, eyes wide and almost scared.

"It is impolite not to announce oneself, Miss Khan," Claire says stiffly, trying to hide the letter opener behind her back.

"Breaking and entering's worse," Yaz replies.

"I'm not at fault if Lord Byron selfishly keeps it locked."

Somehow, Yaz isn't surprised to learn that it's Byron's room. From what Polidori - and the man himself - said, Claire's more than a little head over heels for him.

"What are you after?" she asks.

Claire glances down and away sheepishly. "Letters. If he's written about me, I can ascertain his true sentiments."

She leans back against the door, then sinks down to sit on the hardwood. Yaz, feeling like she's talking to Sonya about some boy, sighs and joins her, knees drawn up.

"Or," she says, "you could try asking him."

"I have," Claire sighs. "His answers only increase the enigma."

Yaz gives the girl a sidelong glance. "Look, if he's not going to be honest with you, he's not worth it."

A string of bad boyfriends - well, two, and really the  _ only _ two she ever had - in school, followed by the complete change that Kira brought, has taught her that. With Kira, communicating is still a struggle sometimes. Yaz knows they're not perfect at it; that often, Kira doesn't say things out of fear of being yelled at or lectured for it, and that she herself has trouble reacting calmly at times. But they've been working on those things, because more than anything Yaz wants it to work out. She wants Kira to be part of her life, for the rest of her life, and they can't do that without honesty.

"You sound like Mary," Claire says, almost laughing. "She continues to urge me to find a more reliable prospect. Not that she can talk."

"She's probably right," Yaz points out, thinking back to the way Byron had looked at the Doctor. "His eye does seem to wander."

Claire goes quiet for a moment, staring out blankly. Finally, she looks at Yaz. "If you had the chance to have someone wonderful, someone who changed your life and showed you new and amazing things… would you be able to trade that for reliable and dull? Would you be able to throw away miracles for the sake of security, even if they were not always easy to understand?"

Two years ago, after just meeting the Doctor and the Master, Yaz would have said no in a heartbeat. She couldn't even bear the thought of leaving that life behind, of staying on Earth instead of travelling the stars. Now, though, the answer doesn't come as easily.

Two years ago, she thought the Doctor was always honest with her. The Master, less so, but at least she knew that the Doctor would keep her safe and tell her the truth. These days, after New Year's Eve and everything with O and Tesla and Gloucester… Yaz is less certain of that. The Doctor has promised to do better, but the weight that promise holds seems to fluctuate as she deems necessary.

Two years ago, she hadn't met Kira, either. Yaz knows she's a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and that she has a bit too strong of an urge to save the world to leave well enough alone, but she doesn't think that she'd mind saving the world on Earth, too. She loves seeing the stars, she loves meeting aliens, she loves the adventures the Doctor takes her on; that, Yaz thinks, will be a constant. But the days of the week between those adventures don't drag the way they used to, and she wouldn't mind those adventures becoming a little less common.

"I don't know," Yaz says, and it's the genuine truth.

She looks at Claire, and as lightning flashes, she sees something  _ else. _ Humanoid, standing in front of the window at the end of the hall, nothing more than a silhouette - but she's dead certain it's staring at her. And then the bright white glow of the lightning fades, and so does the shape.

"Did you see that?"

Claire frowns and turns her head. "What?"

"Nothing," mutters Yaz. "Trick of the light."

As she leans her head back against the wall, she gets the eerie feeling of being watched.


	56. Skin and Bones

The library of the villa is majestic, the Doctor has to admit. Much smaller than the TARDIS' own, of course, but no less beautiful. Candelabras cast a warm glow over the dark wood of the furnishings, the light glinting off the glass that protects old volumes from wandering hands. It all reminds her more than a bit of how her console room had been set up, back before the Time War.

Somehow, the storm seems quieter here, more distant. While the rain still beats at the windows, it's gentler than the way it had poured down on the walk over. In fact, the whole place feels somewhat disconnected from the rest of the house; ethereal and liminal, barred from the rest of the world by the simple wooden door.

Sonic in hand, the Doctor gives the place a scan while the Master flips through a volume left on the table. There's no sign of Shelley, of course, but perhaps whatever they find in here can help solve the mystery of  _ why _ the poet is missing.

She hears the door creak open on unoiled hinges, hears the beat of slightly uneven footsteps across the stone floor, before she hears Byron's voice. "She walks in beauty, like the night."

"Of cloudless climes and starry skies," replies the Doctor. She'd had a bit of a phase, several centuries back, and still remembers most of his poems.

The Master finishes the rhyme, closing the book as he does. "And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes."

Byron chuckles. "I'm intensely flattered you're both familiar with my work, Mr. and Mrs. Doctor."

The both of them nearly choke on air at hearing  _ that. _

"No, really, 'Doctor' is just fine," she insists. "And he's not-"

"I usually go by Harry," the Master says.

She shoots him a look out of the corner of her eye.  _ "Really?" _

_ "Do you have a better alias, love?" _

_ "That is  _ **_not_ ** _ what I meant," _ she thinks, and then says aloud, "You know, I'm quite into Shelley's stuff, too. He about?"

"Indisposed, I'm afraid. He won't be joining us," Byron says. He leans back against the table, looking at them both with a hint of a smirk. "May I be candid?"

"Go for it," says the Doctor.

"I sent my man out to fetch your carriage, but it seems to have disappeared."

"It does that," the Master mutters.

Byron's look of self-contentment doesn't fade as he meets the Doctor's eyes. She holds his gaze steadily, both unimpressed and unintimidated.

And, when he looks away first without saying anything, she tucks her sonic into her pocket and heads out the other door. Her pace is brisk as she heads down the corridor, though the Master easily catches up and takes her hand.

"Just leaving him there?" he asks, as they step into a long dining room.

"If he wants to say something, he can keep up," she replies. "Haven't got time to hang around while he just stares."

The Master laughs. "Old flame?"

"Very,  _ very _ briefly," the Doctor grumbles. "Now come on, help me scan. I picked up some weird readings back in the library, but I need to confirm."

His mind is still awash with amusement as he obliges and pulls out his sonic pen. Before she can do the same, Byron arrives, having apparently decided that he has more to say.

"I'm fully aware of what you want!" he announces.

"Oh, please share," the Master sighs.

"My third canto," Byron says proudly. "Of  _ Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, _ my work in progress."

The Doctor blinks. "Nah, goes on a bit, that one. No offense."

Byron's face falls from triumph to polite dismay.

"Nice mention of Ada, though! Big fan of hers."

With that, she turns away from the increasingly baffled poet to look at the results of her sonic and pace. It's not anything good - she's having a hard time getting a fix on the specifics, but the readings she  _ is _ getting are worrying.

"You know of my daughter?" Byron asks.

"Long story," she says. With the Master here, and his memories being what they are these days, she figures it better to leave it at that. He doesn't remember much from being O, but what little he does is painful to think of.

This time, when Byron speaks, his tone is shorter, clipped. "Why are you here?"

"For a short visit,  _ supposedly, _ " the Master answers pointedly. "But that's quickly seeming to not be the case."

"I'm getting this really weird vibe off your house," the Doctor explains. She doesn't have to see the Master behind her to know he's rolling his eyes.

"Vibe?" Byron repeats.

"Yeah," she breathes, looking out the window at the storm. It hasn't abated; if anything, it's grown worse, tossing the waters of Lake Geneva into a frothing, tumultuous boil. But Lake Geneva is on the other side of the house. "I don't want to worry you, but I'm sensing it's sort of… unrelentingly evil."

With perfect dramatic timing, lightning throws the sight of the lake into sharp relief, highlighting every wave and drowning every space between in darkness. The Doctor can't help a slight shiver when the thunder rolls.

"Millennia spent trying to kill you, and all I get is being called your nemesis at best," the Master grumbles. "But this house has weird readings for  _ one _ evening and you call it unrelentingly evil."

"You never actually wanted to kill me," she says absently, turning back from the window and shaking her sonic like that will make more useful results pop up. "This place does."

Whatever Byron was about to say - and from the look on his face, he was certainly on the verge of saying  _ something _ \- is cut off by a scream of "Doc!" from a few rooms over. Without thinking, the Doctor takes off running towards the source. If her companions are in trouble, then that takes precedence.

When she bursts into the drawing room, she sees Grace and Graham holding on to  _ something _ around Ryan's throat, tugging at it as he gasps for air. A moment later, Grace moves her arm slightly, and the thing comes flying off of Ryan's neck, shooting straight at the Doctor. It comes so quickly she barely has time to react, slapping it away from herself and towards the far wall. As the thing - the hand, she thinks, if skeletal and dismembered - rockets away, Fletcher slams the serving tray in his hands down, smacking the hand into the carpet, where it dissolves into a pile of dust.

The whole thing is over in seconds, if that. The Doctor blinks, looks down at the remains of the hand, and then grins at Fletcher. "Great shot!"

She kneels down and looks at what remains. The hand didn't crumble completely, leaving some fragments of bone, but for the most part, it's all a fine powder. Curious, she sticks a finger into the dust.

"Doctor," the Master starts in a resigned tone, but by that point she's already put her finger in her mouth.

Taking in the flavors, the unique combination of minerals and the levels of remaining organic proteins, she's able to fairly confidently guess the age of origin. It's a trick that River had always found amusing.

"Fourteenth-" she stops, considering, "no, fifteenth century. Touch more umami."

"You are an utter disgrace," sighs the Master, though not without a fair amount of fondness in his tone.

"Least it's probably not Dalek," she shrugs. Then, just to make sure, she pulls out her sonic and scans the hand as well. "Yep, human. Protein, collagen, and… nothing abnormal."

Polidori asks something, but the Doctor is too busy thinking on what could possibly animate the hand like this to really pay attention. She knows she's on the verge of figuring it out, she can taste it on the tip of her tongue - well, not literally, since she's mostly still tasting bone dust - but there's something stopping her. Every time she gets close to the answer, it nudges her thoughts away. It almost feels like a-

Yaz's voice throws her off the train of thought.

"How'd it come to life, then? Was it haunted or something?"

"No," says the Master, at the same time the Doctor says, "Probably not."

"Well, you did say the house was evil," Byron points out.

"That's new," Grace remarks.

The Doctor looks at her, shrugging. "I've been getting a vibe."

"If there is evil here," Polidori says softly, "then I know who brought it in."

He glances at Byron, and Mary and Claire are quick to do the same. After a moment, Byron sighs.

"Very well," he admits. "I may have a… skeleton in my chamber."

Somehow, she isn't surprised.

"Right, well, the three of us are going to take a squiz at your skeleton," the Doctor says. "Everyone else, stay here. If something weird happens, come get us."

"And do try to stay alive," the Master adds over his shoulder.


	57. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spookiness begins to set in :)

Byron's room is almost exactly what the Master had expected of the man. Ostentatious, about as well-lit as the rest of this place, and one of the two desks cluttered with papers while the other boasts several knickknacks - including a human skull.

"It's a collection," Byron says, gesturing demonstratively at the second desk. "Relics of war, from my travels. A reminder that we tread on the dust of empires." He picks up the skull, tilts his head, and paces slightly. "Crops now grow where blood was spilt. An innocent fascination, I assure you."

"Crops only grow if whoever was spilling the blood didn't finish the job," the Master mutters.

Byron's smirk, a seemingly perpetual fixture of his face, grows. "Have you personal experience in the matter, Harry?"

"We both do," the Master says, looking at the Doctor. Right now, she's almost having fun with this, but he knows better than anyone how quickly that can change, should the danger become more real.

Eyebrows raised, Byron sets the skull on the writing desk. On the other side of the room, the Doctor finishes scanning the small alcove window with her screwdriver, and redirects her focus to the helmet on display.

"Waterloo!" she exclaims, lifting the helmet and examining it. "I love a good plume." With that, she puts it on, then grins at the Master. "What do you think?"

"Yes, you look lovely," he sighs fondly.

He's certainly not exaggerating for her benefit; though the waistcoat is obscured by her coat, it's still beautiful, and there's a delighted glow around her. She's enjoying the investigation and mystery of this strange place, and it shows. When her smile brightens even further, his hearts flutter. It's so easy to remember how much he adores her, like this.

Byron strains, trying to pull a heavy-looking chest out from beneath the table. The Doctor blinks, rolls her eyes conspiratorially, and goes to help lift the chest up onto the tabletop, moving a few of the artifacts out of the way as the chest  _ thumps _ down.

"A fifteenth-century soldier," Byron announces, "from the Battle of Morat. His final remains."

He pulls the lid back, revealing a human skeleton, wired at the joints and folded up compactly to fit within the chest. From the way he glances at the two of them, he's fishing for more of a reaction than the sort of disengaged interest he gets. Shock, perhaps, or horror. To a pair of Time Lords, though, skeletons are hardly anything new.

The Doctor reaches into the chest, grabs a radius, and frowns. "One hand gone."

" _ Both _ hands gone," the Master says, leaning to look into the chest.

Byron whirls around, as if expecting to see the second hand behind him. When a knock at the door comes a second later, he jolts.

"Doctor?" calls Yaz.

"Come in!" the Doctor replies, quickly removing the helmet.

The door opens, and Yaz steps inside, Mary behind her.

"What happened?"

"I need to find my son, William," Mary says. "The maid, Elise, took him to sleep in his cradle, but given the rather dire circumstances, I would feel much safer if he were with me."

"Probably a good idea," the Doctor nods. "There's another one of those hands on the loose. But why'd you come tell me? When I left you lot there, I was kind of expecting to come back to find you and Grace wandered off, at least."

"She mentioned Shelley having visions," Yaz says. "I thought she should tell you before we go looking for William. Though, uh, Grace did go looking for a way out with Graham."

"Ah. Good idea, Yaz, that sounds  _ very _ important. Mary?"

"When the weather turned, he began having visions," Mary begins. "An apparition of a figure, floating above the lake."

The Doctor frowns, then looks at Byron. "When you said he was indisposed, what did you mean?"

"Well, when he didn't join us, my mind naturally wandered to the idea of some…" he glances pointedly at Mary, "torrid assignation in town."

"Percy often retires to our chalet." Mary glares, positively venomous. "To  _ write." _

Byron merely raises his eyebrows in a clear insinuation.

"Maison Chapuis," she continues. "On the shore."

"Maybe someone should go find him," the Master says.

Grinning, the Doctor exclaims, "Brilliant idea! Mary, once you get William, could you give Yaz instructions on how to get to the chalet? Actually, scratch that. I need to get out of this place for a bit anyway, we'll go."

She grabs the Master's hand, their fingers winding together easily, and heads for the open door. They both step out into the hall, and turn to head further.

When the Master's feet next meet the floor, both he and the Doctor are back in Byron's chambers.

"Easier said than done," he mutters.

Mouth set in concentration, the Doctor tugs him after her through the door again. Mere moments later, he finds himself following her back into the room instead. She groans, turns around again, and tries for a third time, to no avail.

"What's going on?" asks Yaz.

"The house keeps turning us around. Won't let us leave." The Doctor frowns. "That  _ really _ shouldn't be possible."

"Unless there's some very clever dimensional engineering going on here," the Master muses.

The Doctor shakes her head. "We would have detected that on a scan."

She lets go of the Master's hand for a moment and walks through the door backwards. He sees as she leaves the doorway, enters the hall, and turns to the left. And then, as though she'd never been anywhere else, she's re-entering the chamber backwards.

"Gah!"

Before she can try again, the Master catches her arm. The Doctor whirls around, but when she sees that it's him, she relaxes somewhat.

"Love, you're clearly not getting anywhere like that," he says. "Give it a rest."

With another groan, she slumps against him for a moment. He gives her arm a gentle squeeze, and pointedly ignores the way Byron is looking at them. In his mind, her frustration is almost a physical thing, glowing red hot.

Ryan's voice comes distantly, muffled. "Doctor!"

At that, the Doctor straightens quickly, then walks over to the fireplace and crouches down. "Ryan! Are you trapped too?"

"Yeah, I'm stuck here with Claire and Fletcher. Polidori isn't, though - I just saw him walk through the wall."

" _ Through? _ " she repeats.

"He was out cold, then he stood up and just started walking and… didn't stop."

"Right," the Doctor says. "Okay. That's-"

"Doctor?" calls Grace, barely audible through the open door.

"Sorry Ryan, one sec," she says. As she stands, she gives the Master a pleading look.

He doesn't wait for her to ask before nodding and taking her place at the hearth. The rush of grateful relief from her mind is more than enough of a 'thank you'.

"What was Polidori doing before he walked through the wall?" the Master asks.

"He was passed out in one of the chairs, and then he started sleepwalking and went right into the wall," Ryan says. "How are you talking to me? And where's the Doctor gone?"

He sighs. Humans, always asking unimportant questions. "The fireplaces are connected, and she's dealing with your grandparents. Now, are you sure he was sleepwalking?"

"Yeah. Mary said he did it a lot."

"Which wall did he go through?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Doctor?" Mary says.

"The, uh. The one with the fireplace in it," Ryan replies.

"Mr. and Mrs. Doctor!" Mary repeats, more urgent.

"Has Polidori become a ghost?" Byron asks, kneeling down beside the fireplace as well.

The Master squashes a growing urge to stab the man. "No. He's still alive, unless someone did him a favor and saved him from having to keep living with  _ you." _

He gets a petty glee from the way Byron narrows his eyes in offense.

"Mr. and Mrs. Doctor!"

"Just 'Doctor' is fine!" the Doctor says, at the same time the Master snaps,  _ "What?" _

He looks towards Mary, and sees a blank-faced Polidori stepping out from the wall.


	58. Now You See Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to the big twist of the episode!

The Doctor turns at Mary's exclamation to see Polidori appear from within the wall, the whole thing warping slightly around him. Byron scrambles to hide behind Yaz and Mary, while the Doctor puts a gentle hand in front of Polidori to stop him in his tracks. He's solid when he bumps against her, coming to a halt. Cautiously, she moves her hand to his neck.

"Pulse, check." Her hand moves higher, in front of his nose. "Breathing, check."

"May I just say," Byron says from somewhere behind her, "you are quite lovely in a crisis."

"No, you may not," she snaps. Her tone softens when she turns to look at the Master. "M- Harry, can you make sure he's actually sleepwalking?"

He steps closer, putting his hand to Polidori's temple. After a moment, he nods. "Perfectly fine in there, at least for the company he keeps."

"How'd he sleepwalk  _ through _ the walls, though?" Yaz asks.

"And not just through, but up," the Doctor says. "He was downstairs a second ago."

"Unless the walls aren't where they seem to be," the Master suggests. "He wouldn't be able to see if it just  _ looked _ like there was a wall in the way."

With a gasp, she realizes exactly what he means. "Yes! It's a perception filter - or something like it." She raises her voice, loud enough that it should carry both to the staircase and the drawing room below. "Close your eyes! Clear your mind! We're only experiencing what it wants us to!"

"Like that hotel?" asks Yaz.

"Sort of," the Doctor replies, nose scrunching. "Except this is running on different principles. It's purely visual, not mental. Similar result, different route."

Which would explain why she missed it, though it still doesn't explain the odd readings on her sonic.

"And, unlike in the hotel, this illusion doesn't match up with the physical." The Master crosses the room, standing in front of the bit of wall where Polidori had emerged from. "Which lets us do  _ this." _

With that, he sticks his arm through the wall. Around his wrist, the wallpaper warps and shimmers, trying to keep the image in place despite the disconnect to the real world. After a moment, he pulls his hand back, grinning and wiggling his fingers. The Doctor grins back at him.

"So, Mary, let's go find William and Shelley," she says.

Mary nods, then cautiously steps through the illusory patch of the wall. The Doctor gestures for Yaz and Byron to follow, letting them go through first before she and the Master take up the rear, with her gently pulling Polidori along by the arm. It's a bit of an odd sensation, walking through walls, but it's an even odder one to end up in what looks like the hall on the first floor after doing so.

The Master's thoughts touch against her own as they keep Mary's frantic pace down the hall.  _ "Still enjoying the trip, love?" _

_ "A haunted house with Mary Shelley? Of course!" _

Despite the general creepiness, there've been no deaths yet, and so nothing to temper her delight. Hopefully, that won't change, though she can feel something  _ off _ in the air that makes her begin to doubt those odds.

Mary comes to an abrupt stop facing to the right. "This should be William's room."

Her hand reaches out for an invisible doorknob, and she must find it, because a moment later, a door appears on the side of the hall. Slowly, it creaks open. As soon as it does, Mary rushes inside, heading for the cradle against the far wall.

"William! My darling-"

She cuts off into a shrill, terrified scream. The Doctor drops her hold of Polidori and pushes past the others. Mary seems frozen in front of the cradle, no longer screaming but gasping for breath, loud and panicked.

Inside the cradle, swaddled in the blanket, sit the skull and the second hand from Byron's skeleton. The skull stares tauntingly up at the Doctor as she looks, its deathly grin an omen and a terrible curse. Beneath it, the fingers of the hand are still but curled in a loose grip on the blanket.

"He's going to be okay," Yaz says softly. "I bet Elise just got stuck in another room, that's all. We'll find him, alright?"

The Doctor shoots her a grateful glance, and Mary's harsh breathing slows somewhat. 

"Yes," the woman manages, after a moment. "Yes, I am sure you're right."

"We should head back to the drawing room." As she speaks, the Doctor leans down to grab the skull and hand out of the cradle. It's probably better to keep them where she can see them, since their original containment clearly isn't secure enough. "And we can get Graham and Grace along the way. Consolidating our information is the best idea right now."

She hears someone inhale sharply behind her, and turns to see Polidori blink several times.

"I… suspect I must have missed something," he says.

"Things we know," the Doctor says, pacing. "We can move inside, but not out."

Her forehead still smarts slightly from where she'd collided with the barrier keeping them contained, though her pride was the bigger victim there. She'd been so sure that, with proper determination, she would be able to walk out. Unfortunately, as proven by the fact that she's still in the drawing room, she was wrong.

"Dead things don't act like it," Grace adds, looking pointedly at the skull and hand, now trapped under glass.

"People vanish," says Mary. "Elise, my poor William…"

Claire gives her step-sister a comforting pat on the arm.

"Maybe Shelley didn't turn up because he couldn't get in?" Ryan suggests.

"I have never believed in such things, but… could this be Hell?" Byron asks. "Could we be deceased?"

"Nice blue-sky thinking, but no," the Doctor mutters.

"This is a security system," the Master says. "Though whether it's meant to keep us in or keep something  _ else _ out, I don't know."

"A giant panic room," she nods. "Turning the house into a maze."

Graham looks dubious. "In 1816?"

"The year without a summer." She looks out the window, at the storm that's no nearer to abating, at the tossing of the lake, at the clouds that seem to stretch for miles. "It was caused by volcanic ash, the eruption of Mount Tambora. Brought on all kinds of floods, crop shortages, disease outbreaks, weird weather. This sort of storm wouldn't be out of the question, but it doesn't feel right."

The Master finishes her thought for her. "Something else caused this. Something came here that shouldn't have, and it brought this storm with it."

"But what could do that?" the Doctor muses, turning and pacing once more. "It'd have to have a pretty big - but unstable - power supply, for it to be leaking enough to cause this. Oh,  _ that's _ why the TARDIS wouldn't land any closer! She could sense all the excess energy. But that shouldn't have upset her that much, unless…"

"Could it be that?" Mary says softly.

The Doctor stills, and follows Mary's gaze out of the window. Standing above the turbulent waters is a figure, flickering in and out of reality. A ghostly glow - somewhere between blue and white - pulses erratically around it, obscuring the silhouette. As lightning strikes, grounding harmlessly somewhere off in the distance, the glow becomes brighter, almost to the point where it's painful to look at.

"That could be a solid option, Mary, yes," she breathes.

Mary shudders. "Like a death god, rising from Hades. That was how Shelley described his visions."

Now that she mentions it, the Doctor can make out a humanoid shape within the light. It's vague, more a suggestion than anything, in a way that almost reminds her of the Kasaavin. A monster forcing itself into this world, no regard for the havoc it's wreaking.

"But we're all having it," Claire says.

"No. That's not a vision," the Master says. "Shelley may have seen it first, but it's definitely real."

"A traveller, pushing through time and space." The Doctor is halfway towards reaching for her sonic before she remembers the thing is too far away to scan.

A buzzing, crackling sound comes from behind them, like sparks. The air goes sharp with the smell of burnt Atron energy, the first sign of timelines becoming fragile. In the glass, the Doctor can see a reflection of the same blue-white light.

Slowly, she turns. Through the open door, she watches as a translucent figure - most certainly humanoid, now, though still glowing brightly enough the details are hard to discern - shudders into the hall beyond, and then disappears.

A moment later, it flickers in the hallway once more, the glow dimmer and its features more clear. Even hunched over as it is, the thing is tall and powerfully built. That's not what sends an icy shudder of terror knifing through the Doctor's hearts, though. What does  _ that _ is the shape of the head, the metallic sheen to the skin, the way the blue glow emanates from right in the center of its chest.

Jack warned her. Jack warned her and she'd forgotten because of Ruth and because of every other thing she's had on her mind.

The only thing she can think of now is Bill, and Clara's Danny before that, and Rose before  _ that, _ and every other person she has lost in some way to these horrid things that never seem to stay gone. Too many people, now, too many deaths where she and these monsters share the blood between their hands. Too many that she's failed to save.

Thunder rumbles, shaking the house, and the lone Cyberman truly appears. It turns, with a slow inevitability, to face the Doctor.

**"Are you the guardian?"**


	59. Lone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the Doctor having a lowkey panic attack throughout pretty much the entire chapter, though I don't think it gets too detailed.

The Doctor doesn't think - she  _ can't _ think, not through the terror and the panic. She just moves, racing for the door and slamming it shut, locking it with her sonic, and bracing herself against it. Her head is spinning, she can't get enough air, and distantly she's aware that this isn't a good response, that she needs to be calm and rational and collected if she wants to get everyone out of this alive.

"Jack's warning!" Yaz shouts. "Beware the lone Cyberman!"

"Don't let it have what it wants," Grace continues. "At all costs."

"Yes, thank you!" the Doctor snaps. She  _ knows, _ she knows that she should have been more careful and paid more attention, and the last thing that she needs right now is another reminder of her failures. "Barricade the door!"

Polidori and Byron move one of the sofas, and the Master takes the Doctor by the hand, pulling her gently away from the door. His thoughts are laced with fear like barbed wire, and as they make skin contact, she can't help a wince. He tightens his grip on her hand, almost to the point of pain, clearly more for his comfort than her own. She doesn't mind, though; the physical sensation is grounding, a distraction from the sheer panic filling her.

"May I ask," Mary says, glancing nervously between the Doctor and the door. Every time the Cyberman hits it, the heavy wood rattles in its hinges. "What is a Cyberman?"

"Someone altered," the Doctor replies softly, absently. She's answering the question, but her mind is somewhere else entirely - thousands of years in the future and lightyears away. "Organs, flesh, surgically replaced with mechanical parts without consent."

There was something wrong with the creature outside. Even from the brief glimpse she'd caught before closing the door, she had been able to see. Something off about the face on one side, a lack of metallic sheen and a misshapenness to the eye socket. Almost like there was a piece of the helmet missing.

"It drives them mad," the Master says. "They have to turn off the emotions, too, or they'll destroy themselves."

From behind the door, that same low, mechanical voice repeats its question.  **"Are you the guardian?"**

"Never seen one like him before," she breathes. "He's different. Unfinished."

Again, the voice asks,  **"Are you the guardian?"**

"Whatever he came for is hidden here. It explains the security."

Ryan frowns. "What's hidden?"

"No idea," the Doctor admits. "But I need to beat him to it,  _ quick." _

Beyond the relative safety of the drawing room, she hears the sound of shattering glass, and then retreating footsteps. Either the Cyberman gave up on the door, or it's a trap. She can only hope it's the former.

The Doctor steps towards the other door, that leads out into the back hall. Before she can even turn the knob, the Master stops her. His hand is tight around hers, holding her in place.

"You're not going out there alone," he says firmly.

She whirls around, meeting his eyes. "I am  _ not _ leaving them without someone to protect them. You know better than anyone just how quickly they could- just how quickly that could go wrong. I need to find what it's after, and I need to keep them safe." With a grimace that verges on a snarl, she yanks her hand out of his grasp. "I will not lose anyone else to that!"

His eyes are dark with anger and fear and concern, some terrible mix of them all. Even if memories of her most recent death weren't etched into her brains, she knows exactly why he's so worried; she's not thinking clearly, she's probably going to do something stupidly risky, and if he's here, then he can't stop her when she does. It's a chance they're both going to have to take.

"Doctor-"

"Please," she whispers. "I trust you. Make sure they stay alive, Koschei."

Wordlessly, the Master reaches out and cups her cheek with one hand. A kiss follows soon after, fast and desperate and an unspoken promise to be careful. Then, as he steps back, the Doctor opens the door and leaves.

"What if it finds William?" Mary says, voice faint with fear.

"We need to find the child," Polidori agrees.

"And a way out," adds Byron.

"What you need to do is stay put," the Master snaps. "Unless you want to end up like that thing. And I can assure you, there is no way back once you've been converted. You'll become a heartless, brainless killing machine, and that will be the end of you. And despite the fact that for some of you -" he glares at Byron "- that may be an improvement, the Doctor would rather you stay alive and stay here. She is the best bet for all of you leaving with your humanity intact, so I suggest you listen."

"But we can't just leave William," Claire insists.

"And it knows we're in here," says Grace. "We're sitting ducks."

The Master hisses a sigh through clenched teeth. Grace does, unfortunately, have a point, and Mary is unlikely to calm down and listen while William is still in danger.

"Fine." He looks at Claire and Mary. "Does this place have a cellar? Somewhere secure?"

Claire nods.

"All of you but Mary, head to the cellar. Stay there until either the Doctor or I tell you it's safe to leave. I am deathly serious, and if I see any of you outside of the cellar before that Cyberman is gone, I'll kill you myself, understood?"

The question is directed rather sharply at Yaz and Grace, who both nod along with the others. They're the two he's most concerned about trying something stupid; Ryan and Graham at least have the common sense to listen, and the rest are too scared to do anything but listen. Hopefully, at least, or else there's going to be some  _ very _ messy paradoxes to clean up.

Somehow, with a Cyberman on the loose, Byron's chambers feel much more foreboding. Still, that's roughly the direction it sounded like the thing was headed, so that's where the Doctor is waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to pretend like she isn't out of her mind with fear.

Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Bill's last moment truly alive, or the emotionless mask covering a face that used to be so bright with life, or the barn where she had tried to break the news gently and it didn't change anything. She remembers the exact tone of frightened, confused anger, flattened by modulation but not quite gone, when Bill had screamed about being left for a decade. She doesn't need to remember the guilt; that is still burning strong in her chest, choking her throat and weighing on her hearts.

For a split second, she starts to wonder whether she can really trust the Master with the humans, or whether she's just doomed her friends to a fate worse than death once more. But… no. She trusts him. After how far they've come from the colony ship, after how hard he's tried to be better, she  _ has _ to trust him. He wouldn't do that to them - to  _ her. _

That train of thought is derailed as the stomp of metal boots on the wooden floor grows closer, and her hearts speed up in response. The Cyberman strides into the room, and from where she sits, the Doctor can see that she was right. The left side of his face is unfinished, showing skin where there would normally be metal; scarred, but skin nonetheless.

The Cyberman looks around for a moment, then swipes the books off of one of the desks with a shout. That allows her to see another unfinished part - his left hand is similarly bare to his face, and no less covered in scar tissue.

No time like the present, she thinks.

"Tell me what you're after, and I might be able to help."

After a moment, the desk goes flying to the side as the Cyberman shoves it out of the way. The Doctor stands, a swagger to her step that she doesn't actually feel.

"Well, it was never going to be under there," she remarks. "Unless you don't actually know what it looks like."

He circles around the second desk as she walks closer.  **"Funny. This… dark age is surprising. You're not as primitive as I expected."**

"You're not as cyborg-y as I expected," the Doctor says.

That gets him to pause, turning to face her and tilting his mottled head. One cold grey eye and one dark metal lens meet her own, curious. Which is particularly interesting, given that he shouldn't be able to feel curious at all.

**"You've met my kind before?"**

Understatement of the year. "You could say that."

**"You appear courageous,"** he notes.  **"But your vital signs betray a heightened state of anxiety."**

"Or as I like to call it, Tuesday." The Doctor scrunches her nose and gives a pointed glance to the areas of flesh. "Interesting look. What happened, they get bored halfway through or something?"

The Cyberman stomps forward, face twisting into a snarl.

**"I am complete enough to serve my purpose."**

He raises his left arm, and the weapon on it begins to charge with a whine and a bright blue glow. Every instinct in the Doctor's mind screams at her to duck, or run, or do anything but stand there. She ignores them all, and holds her ground.


	60. Piecemeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor does not do Coping Mechanisms well (though really, when does she ever?)

The Master lets Mary lead the way through the house as they search for William, a candle in hand as she pushes open every door they come across. His own fingers are tight around his sonic pen, though he knows it won't be much help against the Cyberman. He's spent more than enough time making the creatures to know that their systems are too sophisticated for simple electromagnetic pulses to do real damage. If he had his TCE, it would be child's play, but… 

Mary opens another door, then slowly steps inside. When the Master follows, he sees why.

Covering every surface of the room are symbols, letters, numbers, all scrawled in dark ink anywhere they'll fit. Loose sheets of paper are scattered across the floor, full of the same scribblings. There's no rhyme or reason to the layout, no method to the madness. Just desperate, endless writing.

Some of the numbers look like they could be space-time coordinates, though the Master doesn't know exactly where they lead. Millennia in the future, and certainly not on Earth, but the significance of such a time and place is lost to him.

"This writing is Percy's," Mary says softly. "But this wasn't his room."

There's a crackling, popping whine as the blaster on the Cyberman's arm shorts out, and the Doctor barely holds back a triumphant exclamation. The Cyberman looks down at his arm, shocked, and then back at the Doctor with a one-eyed glare.

"Bit embarrassing," she remarks. "Time hop took a lot of juice, and now you're fresh out."

Just like she'd hoped. It had been a risk, but with him blocking the way to the door, she didn't exactly have other options.

**"You irritate me,"** he snarls.

The Doctor raises her eyebrows. "How very human. Still feel things, then? No inhibitor yet."

The uncovered part of the Cyberman's face goes tight with anger - clearly, she's found a sore spot. He draws his left arm back, and she's already ducking out of the way before he swings.

**"I do not need to be** **_stabilized!"_ **

She darts back, towards the window. "Okay, here's the thing. There's a chance that I might  _ be _ the guardian, only I don't know what it is I'm supposed to be guarding. This isn't my time either. Maybe we're supposed to work together!"

As she speaks, the Cyberman keeps advancing, forcing her to continue backing up. Until she knows why he's here, until she knows what he's after, she can't just leave. Keeping him here with her is better than having him on the loose, where he might decide to go see how secure the drawing room really is.

**"Together?"** he echos.

"Anything's possible."

Again, the Cyberman draws back his arm, and the Doctor flinches down, raising her hands to cover her face. Glass shatters as his fist collides with the window, so close she can feel the rush of air, sending tiny shards of glass and water into her hair. Outside, the wind howls.

Yaz follows behind Claire as she leads the way to the cellar, and she can't shake the feeling that she should be doing more. Trying to help the Doctor, or to find a way out, or anything other than cowering in a dark room until it's all over. It makes her feel useless and helpless and  _ frustrated. _

"We should help," she says, mostly to Ryan and Grace. "It's just the two of them against that  _ thing, _ and-"

"And they both told us to stay put," Ryan says, cutting her off. "Did you see the look on the Doctor's face? She was proper terrified. Us being out there, in danger, wouldn't do her any good."

"And what if she does something awful again?" Yaz retorts. "Like she did with those scorpion things?"

That makes him go quiet, though she feels guilty about it now that she's said it. Yaz  _ wants _ to trust that the Doctor won't do something like that. She wants to believe that she wouldn't be cruel and terrible just because there's no one there to see. But she isn't sure of that, these days.

"If what the Master said is true, then she's trying to keep us from becoming like that thing," Grace says, after a moment. "I think it's best if we listen for now."

"But-" Yaz starts

Grace puts her hand on Yaz's arm. "If it's been too long without any sign of them, we can go up and look."

Sighing, Yaz nods. It's a good compromise, she supposes, even though she'd rather skip straight to the looking. And it should make the waiting more tolerable. Hopefully.

Claire stops in front of a simple, unpainted door, and then opens it to gesture them through. Graham goes down first, though Yaz is quick to follow. The flickering light of their candles casts dark, angular shadows across the pale stone as they pick their way down the steps. Yaz briefly wishes she was in trousers, just so that she would be able to actually see where she's putting her feet. Without even a handrail to grab, it's slightly terrifying.

The main floor of the cellar, when she reaches it, seems to be a fairly narrow corridor that leads both forward and back, parallel to the stairs. Yaz and Graham tentatively head forward, but from the soft footsteps she hears, at least one person goes back instead.

"The coal hatch has gone," Polidori notes. "There really is no way out."

After a few steps, the corridor dead ends into some wooden barrels, probably holding wine. Yaz turns around, and does a quick head count. Graham is beside her, Ryan and Grace aren't too far ahead, Byron, Polidori, and Fletcher are still on the stairs, and Claire is… nowhere to be seen. There's not even the light of her candle to indicate where she might be.

"Claire?" Yaz calls. "Where are you?"

For a moment, the entire cellar goes silent. Then, echoing slightly off of the dim walls, comes Claire's voice. Shaky, frightened, and uncertain.

"There is something down here with us."

The Cyberman scowls down at the Doctor as she waits for him to move - either to pull his fist back from the shattered window, or to try something else. This close, she can see every scar on his sickly pale skin, can see the way the faint light from outside glints off metallic, bared teeth. It's horrible, a perversion of the human form that she has seen far too many times. Even this incomplete version brings painful memories crashing back.

Lightning makes white light dance off the metal, almost blinding - and then, suddenly, she can taste ozone and electricity in the air as it's drawn, naturally, to a large chunk of metal at a decent height off the ground. A robotic, ear-grating scream fills her ears as the lightning grounds itself in the Cyberman. His armor crackles with light, glowing and fizzing and-

"Oh. Recharging. Not good." Taking advantage of the distraction, the Doctor slips away from where she'd been cornered, back into the open space of the room, muttering to herself all the while. "Figuring out how to manipulate the elements, creating an extremely sophisticated and probably unlimited power source."

That's not good. That's really,  _ really _ not good. With a drained power source, at least, he'd been manageable. Now, freshly reenergized, he's an even worse threat.

The Doctor reaches out to the Master, sending a messy tangle of  _ panicwarningimages _ that he'll hopefully be able to unravel into the alert it's meant to be. It's all she has time for before the scream trails off and the Cyberman turns to look at her.

He raises his right hand and clenches it into a fist once, then grins.  **"That's better."**

For a moment, his eye closes, as if he's concentrating. As he opens it again, he fixes her with a disdainful glare.

**"I can read the energy field now. You are not the guardian,"** he says, stalking across the room. The heavy thud of his footsteps feels like it shakes the very floor.  **"The Cyberium has selected another as host."**

Cyberium. She's heard that name before, she knows it, but she can't quite place it. A creature, a weapon, some combination of the two. Vital to the Cybermen, vital to the Cyber _ wars, _ and if she could just remember what it actually is, she'd know why it's so important.

The Cyberman stops in his tracks, almost stumbling before jerking backwards and making a pained noise. Tendrils of blue light net across his armor for a moment before they dissipate and he straightens once more. 

"What's happening to you?" the Doctor breathes. Despite herself, she can't help but feel some distant relative of sympathy. Thousands of years protecting and caring for humans is a hard habit to break, even if the lone Cyberman is only that by technicality. Whatever he may be now, he had at some point been just as human as her friends hiding down below. In some ways, however minor, he still is.

There's a long moment of silence before he speaks.

**"There's not one atom of yon Earth,"** he begins - softly, almost, despite the mechanical tone to his voice -  **"but once was living man."**

Mary is knelt down, gathering the pieces of paper that Percy must have left scattered across the room, when she hears the voice of what the Doctor had called a Cyberman. It's low, nearly gravelly, with a strange accent that she cannot place, and despite being muffled by the walls, it carries clearly.

**"The sword that stabs his peace…"**

She finishes the line without even thinking. Percy's words are so familiar to her now that she wouldn't be surprised if she could recite them in her sleep. "He cherisheth the snakes that gnaw his heart. He raiseth up the tyrant whose delight is in his woe, whose sport is in his agony."

"Queen Mab," Harry notes. "Shelley's work."

"But how does it know that?"


	61. Hunt

Claire steps back into Ryan's line of sight, out from a side passage. Her candle has gone dark, and her eyes are wide as she glances the way she came.

"Something crept in front of me," she says, the words running together in her urgency. "I heard its foul breath. Listen."

Everyone goes quiet, and Ryan realizes she's right. He can just faintly hear someone - or some _ thing _ \- breathing. As Yaz and Grace step forward, closer to the source of the sound, Ryan helps Claire relight her candle. Then, apprehensive, he follows.

He can't shake the feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong. The Doctor's never been as openly frightened as she was when the Cyberman appeared, and the Master seemed just as scared, even if he was hiding it. Anything that could scare those two wasn't a good thing at all.

The small corridor Claire had entered leads into a large room - or at least, Ryan assumes it's large. However far away the back wall is, it's completely dark. Their candles aren't much help outside of a small area, but they shed enough light for him to see the man on the floor easily enough.

His brown hair is tangled and messy, his clothing is rumpled, and there's a strange look in his eyes. More than anything, he looks  _ sick, _ pale and shivering, with a sheen of sweat on his skin. Ryan can't help but think of the way his mum had looked when he found her on the kitchen floor; it's the same closeness to death.

Grace is already kneeling down in front of the man. "Are you alright?"

Instead of answering, he looks at Claire and the others.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I tried to hide it. I have to keep him out."

"So, if you know where the Cyberium is, then who's the host?" the Doctor asks, as the Cyberman paces the room again.

**"Percy Bysshe Shelley."** The Cyberman spits the name out as though it's unfamiliar but disgusting.  **"He is whom I seek."** He sneers, then stomps off towards the bed.  **"But he is fortified against me!"**

"Okay, good to know," the Doctor mutters. That would explain the moving rooms, then. An attempt by Shelley to keep the Cyberman away. "So, I vote we split up and continue the search. You go this way, and I'll go-"

She takes off running before even finishing the sentence, slamming the door shut behind her. It doesn't mean much, but anything that slows the Cyberman down while she's looking for Shelley is a bonus.

The house leads her to the downstairs hallway, and she doesn't bother trying to understand how that happened. When she comes to a stop, she sees a bundle of red fabric on the floor. Slowly, the Doctor crouches down and pulls the fabric back, half expecting the rest of the skeleton from Byron's collection to lunge out at her. Instead, a human baby stares up at her and babbles.

She breathes a sigh of relief, then picks William up. He giggles, reaching for her hair with pudgy fingers and smiling.

A moment later, the Doctor hears footsteps, and whirls around to see the Master and Mary. Mary gasps, running to grab William and hold him close. The Doctor doesn't pay too much attention to that, instead looking sharply at the Master. She doesn't see anyone else, and she doesn't _think_ he'd hurt them, but... old habits are hard to break.  


"Where're the others?" she demands.

"The cellar," he says. "It seemed more defensible than the drawing room. I was going to send Mary down to join them as soon as we found William, don't worry."

That soothes her nerves, somewhat. "You didn't happen to find Shelley, did you? As apparently he's the guardian of the Cyberium, which is what  _ he's _ after."

"No luck, I'm afraid." The Master's eyes narrow. "Are you sure he said Cyberium?"

"Yep. I recognize the name, but…" She trails off into a small shrug.

"I'm not surprised. It's one of the Cyber army's best kept secrets," he explains. There's more than a bit of excitement in his voice as he does. "An AI containing all of their military knowledge, and a handy shortcut to controlling just about any Cyberman. I've been trying to get my hands on that for  _ years." _

For the sake of time, the Doctor chooses to ignore the last part. "So if Shelley's got it, he could be the one doing this to the house. The Cyberman said he was  _ fortified, _ though. He must be hiding somewhere…" In retrospect, the answer is obvious. After all, it is, as the Master said, very defensible. "He's in the cellar!"

Dread hits her a moment later. Shelley is in the cellar, with every single other human in the house. The one place that the Cyberman is going to be heading straight towards, and may have already reached.

"They're all in danger," she whispers. "Mary, you need to hide. Find somewhere safe and stay put."

Mary shakes her head. "I must see Percy."

"You're not supposed to die tonight. None of you are." The Doctor  _ knows _ she probably sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to care, not with how urgent the situation is. "History is vulnerable tonight, and I need as many people to stay alive as possible. Including you and William."

At that, Mary tightens her hold on her child. After a moment, she slumps, resigned.

"Can you promise me that he will survive?"

The Doctor hesitates. "No. I'm sorry, but… not now. So many things have changed from how they should be going."

"But we'll do what we can," the Master says, and he sounds oddly sincere.

"I suppose that is all I can hope for," Mary sighs.

The cellar door is easy enough to find, now that the two of them are looking. Sonic in hand, the Doctor leads the way down the stairs, the Master watching her back. As she descends, she can hear voices - all familiar, thankfully, and in the careful tones of whispery shouting.  


"We should go up and tell her!" Yaz says. "She was looking for him!"

"Yeah,  _ before _ the lone Cyberman showed up," Graham replies. "I think he's a bit less of a priority now."

"But Shelley said he was the guardian," Ryan points out. "That's what the Cyberman was looking for, right? So if the Doctor can get down here before him, maybe she can fix this."

"I could go and inform her," offers Polidori.

"You need to stay down here," says Grace, firmly. "If you go up there and get killed before you're supposed to die…"

The Doctor makes her entrance in the heavy silence that follows, stepping out of the narrow hall and into the larger room. Immediately, the humans whirl around with gasps, huddling closer to each other.

"It's just us!" she says quickly, holding her hands up.

Claire is the first to speak. "Where are Mary and William?"

"Hiding upstairs," the Master says. "Where the rest of you should be. The Cyberman is after Shelley, so this is the most deadly place in the house at the moment."

"But-" Byron starts.

The Doctor cuts him off. "Before he knew where Shelley was, this was a good hiding place, yes. But now he can track the energy signals of what he's searching for. Now stop arguing, and  _ go upstairs. _ The timelines are fragile enough right now without more death."

Without waiting to see if Byron and the others obey, the Doctor turns to look at her companions. Grace is checking over a pale, sickly Shelley, who's sitting against the wall and shuddering. Ryan, Graham, and Yaz are still eyeing the hallway warily, keeping tight holds on their candles.

"You four should go, too," she says.

Even before they all shake their heads, she knows what their answer will be. They're too stubborn, too reckless, too  _ human _ to do anything other than insist on staying with her. And even though it terrifies her - the thought of them dying, all because they wanted to help and she was too sentimental to send them away or too slow to save them - the Doctor wouldn't have them any other way.

"If you're staying, stay back," the Master orders. "Out of the way, and near the exit."

"When the Cyberman gets here, you're going to  _ run. _ I don't care if we're still down here, or if it looks like we're in danger. We'll be fine. You won't, and I cannot lose another person to that." The Doctor looks at each of them, one by one, dead in the eyes. "Understood?"

Slowly, her friends nod. She doesn't promise to keep them safe, or tell them they'll be okay. By now, she's learned her lesson about  _ that. _ It was a lesson bought in the blood of someone she should have protected, but that only makes it more important that she tells them the truth. Here, false hope will only get them a fate worse than death.

"Right then," the Doctor says, not bothering to fake any cheer. "Let's see what's up with you, Percy Shelley."


	62. Stratosphere

As the Doctor scans Shelley with her sonic, the man's eyes go impossibly wider with fear and confusion. Annoyingly, though not surprisingly, the device still struggles to produce useful information.

"Too big to register. That's why the readings were off." She looks at Shelley, taking in the unhealthy silver sheen of his skin and the panic on his face. "It's called the Cyberium."

"I'm trying to protect it," he whispers.

A loud, shattering crash fills the room before the Doctor can say anything more, accompanied by a flash of white light. She turns to see the Cyberman standing there, flickering at the edges like he had when he first appeared. Not quite there entirely, but real enough to be a threat. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the Master's hand reaching for his own sonic, though they both know it won't be much use.

"Begone, invader!" Shelley orders.

To her mild astonishment, the Cyberman seems to listen. Or at least, the Cyberman's computational systems listen, as he blurs and fades out of the cellar once more. Shelley gasps in a ragged breath, his eyes closing and his hands shaking. Distantly, somewhere above them, the Doctor hears a furious scream.

"You moved him!" she exclaims. "Is it you, changing the house?"

Shelley swallows thickly. "Some. But not all. It has its own will."

She frowns, taking in the information. That makes sense, she supposes; subconscious desires would be just as plain to the Cyberium, but would seem confusing to a human. Or perhaps it's the Cyberium's own will, blending and building off of Shelley's. Neither option is ideal, but that alone isn't actively harmful to Shelley. The Cyberium as a whole is a different matter, though. His brain isn't meant for containing such a thing, and it's going to tear him apart.

Footsteps, quick and light, come closer, and the Doctor looks up to see Mary, holding a candle that looks like it was taken from the library. William is nowhere in sight.

"You shouldn't be down here," the Master says.

"I cannot hide," Mary insists. "Not while he suffers."

She doesn't wait for anything more before she sits down next to Shelley, taking one of his hands in her own. Gentle, but so clearly afraid. Hoping to provide any measure of comfort in what might be his last moments.

The Master crouches down in front of Shelley and puts his hands at the human's temples. Shelley darts a nervous look toward the Doctor, and it doesn't seem to help when she puts her own hand around the Master's wrist.

"Show us what happened to you," she says softly.

It's a strange feeling, following alongside the Master's own presence inside someone else's mind. She's done this before, sparingly, on her own, but it's different with another person. By now, though, they've spent so much time in each other's heads that the adjustment comes rather quickly, and soon enough they're rifling through Shelley's recent memories in tandem just as easily as they pilot the TARDIS together.

The recollection is still sharp and vivid, showing a far more peaceful version of Lake Geneva than the one that sits frothing outside. It's sunny out, though not too bright thanks to the thin clouds that dot the sky. Shelley is alone, walking along the shore, his gaze wandering from the trees to the grass beneath his feet to the clear, still water.

Something moves, a flash of silver glinting in the sunlight. Entranced, Shelley kneels down and reaches into the water. The Doctor feels her own hand grow cold to match the memory of the water's temperature, and then colder still as Shelley grasps the small nugget of mercurial metal. He draws his hand back, still holding it, watching with fascination as with wriggles slightly in his palm.

Then, without warning, the silver  _ writhes _ and  _ pierces _ and slips into Shelley's pores, into his bloodstream. The memory of the pain is agonizing as the Cyberium forces its way past blood, into Shelley's heart, up into his brain. Feeling it climb and spread within him is stomach-turning, even secondhand.

When the Doctor pulls back, she can still feel the echo of Shelley's suffering. She doesn't have to look at the Master's face to know that he does, too. Human minds aren't good at keeping all those emotions separated like Time Lords are, and the bleedthrough was inevitable.

Shelley gasps, breathing harshly, staring at the two of them with something that could be fear or awe. Mary's hold of his hand tightens.

"I returned," he says, barely above a whisper. "But I was changed. No one could see me. It hid itself in me, and hid me within the villa."

"And when it thought it might be discovered, it manipulated all of our perceptions." The Doctor feels like an idiot for not noticing sooner, but clearly the Cyberium was desperate. She'd almost say  _ frightened, _ but it can't be capable of emotions like that. But pushing it into a corner has made it far more dangerous than it already was.

"Since the quicksilver has taken hold of me, I see  _ symbols," _ Shelley breathes. His eyes are darting around, desperate and frantic. "Symbols and numbers. They will not leave my head, no matter how much I transcribe them." He shudders. "The house was like shifting sands. I sought solitude, here in the dark."

"There were coordinates in his room," the Master says. "For the last place the Cyberium was, probably."

"Cyberium?" Grace echos.

The Doctor gives the quick explanation, but her mind is elsewhere, unravelling the events that must have led to this. The Cyberium doesn't belong here any more than its hunter, and it didn't get here by chance. Someone sent it, someone tried to hide it, in a desperate bid to weaken the Cybermen. It's risky and reckless and very, very human. It's also killing Shelley, one panicked heartbeat at a time. No human has the capacity to contain that sort of thing and remain sane, much less alive. The only reason a Cyberman could is because they're already functionally blank slates, no will to fight and no organ failure to worry about. But a frightened, unprepared human doesn't stand a chance.

Another flash of light nearly blinds her as the Cyberman tries to force his way inside once more. His hand is outstretched, reaching for Shelley, who makes a pained noise as he overrides the teleport controls again. The strain is getting to him already.

"I can't keep him away much longer," Shelley warns.

"Stop trying," the Master orders.

Every human in the room looks at him, expressions ranging from bafflement to betrayal.

"Doc-" Graham starts.

"No, he's right," the Doctor says. She looks at Shelley, and tries to appear reassuring. "It's okay."

"Jack's warning!" protests Yaz.

The Doctor faces her. "Jack isn't here, now, stuck in a house with  _ that." _

"Exactly!" Ryan says. "You didn't want us near it a minute ago."

"There is a supercomputer latched on to his cerebral cortex." The Master's voice is patronizingly slow. "Unless  _ you _ know how to remove it, that Cyberman is our best bet."

"He said not to let it have what it wants," Grace points out.

The Doctor grits her teeth. "I  _ know. _ Or else armies will rise, and billions will die."

"Shelley's gonna die if that stuff stays inside him," adds Graham.

"Not every patient survives," Grace says softly. "If it's him or billions of people, Doctor…"

"It's not that simple!" she snaps. "It's not just Shelley that changes, if he dies tonight. It's all of history. It's all of  _ humanity. _ His words inspire and influence people for centuries, and erasing that will have unpredictable consequences. Words matter! One death, one ripple, and history will change in a blink. The future will not be the world you know, the world you came from, the world you were created in - it won't exist, and neither will you. It's not just his life at stake; it's yours."

As she takes in the horrified,  _ fearful _ looks on her friends' faces, the Doctor knows she should feel guilty. And she does, but at the moment it's buried under so many other painful, messy emotions that it barely registers. She's had to make this choice too many times in her life; one person for millions, billions, whole universes. One loss to stop so many. It's never easy, and she hopes it never gets easy. But this is different. It won't just be her losing someone - it will cut a thread in the timelines that bears too strong a load to risk. Of course, she's done that before, too, and it was so horrific that she refused to call herself 'Doctor'.

"Do you really want to die for this?" the Master asks. "Want to make this choice? Kill the poet to save a universe that will be unrecognizable? You can't even see the way that will change things, the way your silly little planet will be altered. The paradoxes caused by your existence will rip you apart as your atoms cease to exist. At least you won't have to live with the consequences."

He's being cruel, and she should do something about that. Under any other circumstances, she  _ would _ do something about it. Now, she's almost grateful. Hoping that it will get her friends to understand that there is no right answer, there is no way to win, and the only option that lets them survive is also the one that ends with a planet-spanning Cyberwar.

They're silent, looking at each other with a kind of terror that hurts the Doctor to know that she caused. She's failed them, just like she failed Bill, but at least this time she can try to keep them alive. Even if they're all going to hate her for how she has to do it. Losing them because they leave her is painful, it always is, but she'd rather that than losing them because she couldn't save them.

The Master's hand finds her own, and it's almost soothing.

"Please," Shelley whispers. "Help me."

Right on cue, the Cyberman appears.


	63. Cyberium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this arc, before things go rapidly downhill! I'll be taking a break to plot out the finale properly, but chapter 64 should go up on either March 10th or 13th. Enjoy!

With floor-shaking footsteps, the creature stomps towards Percy. The Doctor's friends back away, as do the Doctor and her husband - if to a lesser degree. Mary doesn't even bother; she's not leaving Percy, and she doubts running would do much good anyways.

**"Release what you hold,"** it orders.

Percy looks, if possible, even more frightened than before. "H-how?"

**"Release it!"**

"If you tell him how, he might be able to do it," Harry suggests, his tone surprisingly steady and disinterested.

**"I am addressing the Cyberium,"** the monster snarls.  **"It must execute the host to be extracted!"**

The Doctor steps closer, getting between Percy and the monster. For all her short stature, the movement is enough to make it back up slightly. "And it's not obeying you."

**"Then I shall execute the host."**

It pushes the Doctor aside, and stomps forward. Mary cannot let this happen - she will not merely sit by Percy's side while this thing  _ executes _ him. She stands, smoothing her skirts down in a motion that feels distantly ridiculous at a time like this, and stares the monster in its singular golden eye.

"What is your name, sir?" she asks. Her voice is trembling, but she holds firm even as it tilts its head and looks at her with puzzlement. The motion casts greying skin into sharper relief by the candlelight, revealing reddened scars that crisscross its face like seams.

"Mary, this is not a good time to talk," the Doctor hisses.

"Or names," Mary continues, ignoring her. "Are you several men? A composite of parts?"

**"I am better than** **_men,"_ ** it sneers.

"Yet I still see a soul in there," she says softly. And, indeed, it's the truth; beneath the metal and the fury, there is some trace of humanity that still remains. Battered, perhaps, and broken, but the fragments are visible.

The creature chuckles, low and amused.  **"What do you think you see,** **_child?"_ **   


She thinks of William, still alive even though Elise was found dead in the chest. Of this creature straddling the line between man and monster finding her baby and choosing to let him live. Of mercy.

"I see the man who spared my son," Mary says.

A silence, soft and yet tense, falls over the room.

"Were you a father, before?" she asks.

**"I was."** The creature bows his head.

Mary's heart aches. "You didn't want to be this way. They hurt you, this modern Prometheus." The last part is muttered more to herself than to him, half of an idle thought that tugs strangely at her mind. She tucks it away, though, at least for the moment, and meets the creature's eyes. "You loved once. And were loved in return. You do not wish to kill."

Very slowly, Mary reaches her hand out. With stilted movements, the creature does the same with his uncovered hand. The touch is light, barely brushing against her own hand, but she can feel the chill of it all the same. Like a corpse, she thinks.

**"My name… was Ashad,"** he says quietly.

Hope begins to well up, bright and clear, like a bubble beneath her ribs.

**"I did spare your son,"** Ashad continues. His hand moves further up her arm, and tightens suddenly. The almost serene look on his face twists into a snarl. The bubble bursts.  **"Because he's a useless runt. Sickly and weak. I did have children - I slit their throats when they joined the resistance!"**

Mary gasps, trying to pull back from the grip of the monster holding her, but Ashad pulls her in before she can escape. The clammy hold on her arm releases, only for a moment, before she feels it on the back of her neck. She freezes in place, the terror pounding in her heart so overwhelming that she cannot breathe. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Doctor and her husband straighten and step closer. 

**"In death, we are transformed! Improved.** **_Updated."_ ** Ashad looks at her sharply. There's a terrible, cruel grin on the half of his face that she can see.  **"As you will soon learn."**

"Transformed in death," the Doctor says softly.

Harry moves to stand in front of Percy, a strange and cold look in his eye. "This is going to hurt."

Mary doesn't know what Harry does as he places his hands at Percy's temples, but from the way her husband's eyes widen suddenly before he begins trembling, it's nothing good. If whatever the two of them had done earlier to see Percy's memories was invasive, then Mary is certain that this is worse.

"Mr. Doctor!" she cries, forgetting even her fear of the monster holding her in place. "What are you doing to him?"

And then, suddenly, Harry is stepping back and Percy is exploding with light. It spills from his mouth, bubbling outwards in a writhing mass of reflective, shimmering silver. There's so much of it, far more than Mary would have ever imagined possible, but as it hovers in the air, it seems to compact itself.

Ashad lets go of her neck to reach for the glowing, pulsing  _ thing, _ and Mary lunges for Percy before he even hits the ground. It takes her a moment to realize that their surroundings have changed, shifting back into the drawing room.

"What just happened?" Graham asks.

"He's reset the house," the Doctor says.

"Grace, help him," Harry orders. "I got the Cyberium out of his system."

Mary looks up at her, cradling Percy's head in her lap. He's unconscious, barely breathing, his heartbeat so faint and slow that she would almost think it nonexistent. "At what cost?"

The Cyberium hangs in the air, its movements fluid yet sharp. A bright, metallic light shines from it, rippling as though under water. It's beautiful, in a strange way. Enticing.

Ashad is reaching for it already, his hand outstretched. But the Cyberium hesitates, still. Not quite sure if it wants to pledge itself to such a guardian. The Doctor is grateful for that.

She looks at the Master, a question in her thoughts. One of them has to take it, so that Ashad can't; it's just a matter of who. Who gets to bear the burden, until the other can get it out. Who has to hold unimaginable power and resist the urge to give in, and who has to be ready to stop them in case it goes wrong.

The Master steps forward and reaches out. The Doctor steps back and braces herself for the worst.

It takes a moment for the Cyberium to coalesce above the Master's hand. The pseudo-liquid moves slowly and ponderously, with an intelligence underlying each spasm of matter. But, eventually, it does settle clearly in his favor.

**_"No!"_ **

A sharp smile tugs at the Master's lips. "And it likes me better. Don't blame it - Time Lord magnetism. You weren't the guardian after all."

At that, the Cyberium  _ twists, _ jumps forward, and pierces through his skin like a needle. For a fraction of a second, that's all he feels, before the burning pain sets in. It roils through his veins, lighting them up in agonizing silver as it works its way up, up, up, trying to reach his brains. He can feel every nanometer of progress it makes as it forces the rest of its mass inside him, every sickening, freezing-cold push. As it hits his hearts - staggered, first the right and then the left - he doubles over at the horrible  _ ache _ of it.

When the Cyberium does achieve its goal, slipping through his blood to settle into his mind, the pain disappears in an instant. Already fusing to his brains to make the experience that much more pleasant. The information hits a heartbeat later, flooding his thoughts in a way that would be unbearable if he wasn't prepared. As it is, it almost feels too natural, letting all the knowledge and strategy and  _ power _ flow through and fill him up.

The first problem comes when the Cyberium stumbles across his bond with the Doctor, and a thread of silver tries to follow it back to the source. Even bent over and gasping as he is, the Master can see the Doctor stiffen suddenly as it does, and he slams barriers into place around their connection before the Cyberium can try anything else. It's made for this, he knows; controlling hiveminds is what it was designed to do. But he is going to need to set some ground rules before the two of them can do anything together, and the first is that the Doctor is off-limits. Period.

That is, unfortunately, as far as he gets on that front before Ashad begins to speak again.

**"Surrender it, or I will execute you."**

The Master laughs. "I'd like to see you try. Don't think the Cyberium particularly wants to go. It's already feeling quite at home."

Ashad sneers, raising one hand to point at the window. Lightning strikes quickly and suddenly, and the thunder that follows is strong enough to shake the house to the foundations.

"What are you doing?" the Doctor demands.

**"Transmitting. My ship will lock on to my signal."** The grin on the Cyberman's face is viciously gleeful.  **"It will tear this reality apart, and this planet will remain only in shreds."**

The Master can feel the transmission on the very edges of his mind, like a stray thought. Calling out across time and space for reinforcements. It's so close that he could probably reach it, with just a little help from the Cyberium. A little help that is, as it turns out, quite easy to get.

"This world doesn't end in 1816," the Doctor protests. "It can't!"

**"It will."**

"No, it won't," the Master says brightly. The urge to gloat is impossible to repress, and he doesn't see any point in trying. "As I've blocked your transmission. Which means it's just one half-finished Cyberman - that's you, by the way - against two Time Lords. And guess what? One of us has the key to all your little computer systems. That includes life support, and teleportation, and all other sorts of fun things. Percy Shelley was able to keep you away and turn this place into a maze. Just imagine what I could do."

He smiles, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Within his mind, the Cyberium swirls, all that power at the ready. It would be so,  _ so _ easy to just kill Ashad and be done with all of this. It would barely even take a thought; the Cyberium isn't fond of the creature and all his unfortunate imperfections like  _ opinions _ and  _ emotions. _ But- no, the Doctor likes to at least offer her victims a chance before destroying them. He can do the same.

**"You cannot,"** Ashad snaps.  **"The Cyberium will not allow you to-"**

It's the perfect chance. He'd have to be a fool not to take it. With a tendril of mental power, wrapped up neatly in silver, the Master switches off the mechanisms that keep the artificial heart pumping blood to important, fleshy bits underneath the metal casing.

Ashad collapses to the ground in an instant, gasping harshly. He struggles for a few moments to raise his right arm, but without blood flow that becomes rather difficult. The Master takes the liberty of powering down the blaster, just in case, along with anything else that might turn deadly.

"You killed him," Mary breathes.

"He killed himself. Choosing to become that… it's worse than dying." The Doctor looks at the Master, her face carefully blank in a way that would be unreadable to anyone else, hiding her concern well. "We need to get that out of you."

"It's no rush," he says. "Quite handy, actual-"

The end of his sentence is cut off as his mind erupts with a pain that has become all too familiar since Gallifrey, and the Master  _ screams. _


End file.
